The Lass of Poppy Hill: A Big Valley Story
by MLMartineau
Summary: A young woman from the valley comes back home after Nick's broken engagement to Hester.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

From the heights the prospect of the expansive bay and of a tiny island called Alcatraz was unmatched in all of California. San Francisco was not merely a vicinity for a good view of nature's wonders; for within a mere thirty years from its beginnings, the rough edges of a hastily created port-of-call had evolved into a flourishing hub of commerce and culture miles west of the frontier and of grand tradition. The riches of gold and silver had enticed a flurry of people west; and out of the successes of fortune seekers sprang grand hotels, reverent churches, formidable buildings of exchange, a stronghold mint, and libraries and academies to educate. Yet what made the fledgling city unique were the residences of a new class of moneyed folk. The houses they built were unparalleled in their elegance of design; the street side facades indulgent in whimsical shapes, combinations of colors, great windows from which the occupants could gaze in wonder, and carved adornments intended to delight an admirer's fancy.

Elizabeth MacCanish peered from a large window of just such a house, down to the lane below. A fly cab had pulled onto Washington Street, stopping in front of the cream-colored shiplap house, its exterior ornamented with elaborate black and white geometrics and intricate gingerbread scrollwork on every eave. Elizabeth sighed on catching sight of her friend Jarrod Barkley as he stepped from the cab and paid the driver the agreed fare.

"Eugene, your brother has arrived!" Elizabeth's voice hailed in a melody of pleasure. She often spoke so, as it was her nature to sing, particularly when busy at a task. She had a charming, gay voice; her late father, Connell MacCanish had always thought so, as had his friends the Barkley's; above all, the sons.

Eugene Barkley hurried to the window, grinning to see his eldest brother walk up the portico steps to be greeted by the houseman who took Jarrod's coat and hat.

"Did you have a good trip, Mr. Barkley?"

"An uneventful train trip from Stockton, Jack," Jarrod nodded in his easy way. "Just the way I like it, and a fine sunny day for the occasion. How often does that happen here on the coast?"

Jack followed closely as Jarrod stepped into the entry, not awaiting a reply to his rhetorical question.

"Mr. Eugene and Miss Elizabeth are in the parlor."

"I can find my way."

Jarrod knew precisely how to find the parlor on the second floor of the house. He had been a visitor there on many occasions, either by himself when in town on business, or on holiday with his sister Audra, and his mother Victoria Barkley. The family would come to see the youngest brother Eugene at university in Berkley, and spend several weeks with Elizabeth, while Eugene took the train to the city on weekends.

The house in the neighborhood of Pacific Heights was sizeable enough to accommodate a family and guests. It had three main living levels consisting of a formal parlor, a less formal morning room, a fine dining room, five bedchambers spread across the two upper floors, and a water closet above and below for comfort. The basement level was for utility; a kitchen and larder, a distillery, coal cabinet, delivery porch, and servant's quarters; much in a European tradition.

Connell MacCanish had the house built in the autumn of 1865, shortly after the war. Though Connell, his wife and his daughter had lived on their ranch in Stockton most of the year, they had resided a month or two in San Francisco and then travelled to the ranches of Connell's two brothers Muirfinn and Gillis, farther north of the bay.

These ranches were rambling contiguous estates principally for the growing of walnuts, hazelnuts, almonds, figs, and fruits; and vineyards which produced grapes just prime for a praiseworthy brandy and a fine table wine.

Elizabeth now resided permanently in the house in San Francisco since her father's passing the summer of 1872, and the death of her mother Rose the year prior. She had chosen to live in the city; of her own will, for her own reasons. The ranch lands near Stockton were leased by the Barkley's, thus adding to Elizabeth's generous income.

The MacCanish clan had come to America from the Scottish West Highlands. The brothers had sold their lands to the local Earl, and they travelled with their wives and young children to California by sailing ship, first to Boston Harbor, and then directly round the Horn to the Port of San Francisco. The MacCanish brothers had been a restless trio; headstrong and adventurous. They were born of social standing, yet had grown weary of English rule and the politics of Clan MacAonghais, a very old and rooted authority of which they belonged. They left the familiarity of their ancestral home of foggy mist covered mountains, mossy grey stones, and fields of heather to begin anew in a land of sunshine and golden opportunity, each having a good head on his shoulders for cultivation, cattle, and mining; and thriving in a wild, untamed frontier. That is what the West and California had been in 1851.

Elizabeth had arrived as an infant, and what she knew of Scotland had been taught to her through imagery painted by her bountiful kin in recollections and song. She was taught traditional Gaelic and proper English, and the old ways of living from the land; yet her father had insisted on her being formally educated, and as modernly independent as a young woman in Victorian America ought to dare become.

Though an only surviving child, Elizabeth had grown up with her many Scot cousins; and also the Barkley children. She attended school with the elder Barkley boys, and holidays were spent together, Christmas at Campbelton Ranch, and Easter at the Barkley Ranch. Elizabeth was like a daughter to Victoria and Tom Barkley. She was a dear friend and companion to their youngest child Audra, and adored and esteemed by a besotted Eugene. Yet to Jarrod and Nick Barkley, respectively a mere six and three years Elizabeth's seniors, she was a girl altogether singular from any they had known.

Brother Heath had not yet had the pleasure of meeting Elizabeth MacCanish. He had come to the Barkley Ranch only a few months earlier, and Elizabeth had not been to Stockton in almost three years. Heath knew of her, however, and she had been told of him, from letters written by Audra and Victoria; and from what Eugene and Jarrod had told her of their foundling brother when they had last been in town.

"How does he get on with Nick?" she had asked of Eugene.

"Better," Eugene had to admit. "They didn't like each other much at first, but they're more alike than they know, and Nick won't admit it, but he needs the help on the ranch. Heath's proven himself a good man."

Elizabeth smiled at the news, and she sighed, "As are all the Barkley men."

"Elizabeth!" Jarrod exclaimed and reached for her hands. She embraced him, and he kissed her cheek. "You are more beautiful each time I see you!" This was not a tactful and delicate lie to satisfy a woman's sensibilities. He turned to his brother and winked, "I thought I'd find you here, Gene."

Eugene laughed, "I wouldn't miss a chance for you to buy me supper at the Cliff House!"

"Nor would I," Elizabeth giggled, blushing at the prospect of a night about town with two handsome men.

"The Cliff House it is," Jarrod said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of an excellent evening.

Saturday night at the Cliff House was a splendid affair. It was the place for the nouveau riche of the West to be seen, all the more so through the shrouds of fog that clung to the Pacific coastline during the spring and summer months. It was a damp and chilly trip by carriage, but a body warmed once inside near a roaring hearth in the grand dining room, and by the heat generated by so many fashionable people in the dance hall below.

Having been a lawyer for some years with an office in the city, Jarrod Barkley was acquainted with as many inhabitants of San Francisco as Elizabeth, and they both did their part to introduce Eugene to their friends and acquaintances. There was one person in particular who Gene knew that evening. In the heart of the vestibule stood Hester Convers, dressed in her city finery and surrounded by her many suitors and admirers; a purposeful situation unavoidable to anyone who happened to enter the building.

"Jarrod Barkley, what a pleasant surprise!"

"Miss Convers," Jarrod remained all politeness in as succinct a greeting as he could muster.

"Oh posh, since when have I become Miss Convers and not merely Hester?"

"Since you left the valley," Eugene was not so politic as his brother. It was plain by the austere look directed at Gene that Jarrod was not pleased by the meeting.

"Well," Hester dismissed any awkwardness between the Barkley brothers and herself, "Have the halibut or sole for supper, the crab is not yet in season."

Elizabeth's curiosity could not be quelled once seated at a well-situated table and Jarrod had ordered a good bottle of wine.

"When was Hester Convers in Stockton?"

"Two months ago," Eugene offered up the information.

There was not much in the way of news of the valley that Elizabeth did not know. She generally had it on first account in a letter from Victoria, or at the very least, from Audra. She had however heard nothing of Hester Convers being near Stockton; far removed from her element of the life of the burgeoning San Francisco elite.

"She seems well acquainted with you," Elizabeth goaded, somewhat concerned for her friend. "Surely, Jarrod, you did not fall under her spell?"

"No," Jarrod said with great care and an arch of a brow; and he glanced once again at Gene in an attempt to stifle any careless reply that his youngest brother might offer. "We thought it best not to speak much to the matter."

Eugene couldn't resist saying, "For Nick's sake."

Elizabeth's look of abhorrence was aimed first at Gene and then promptly back toward a guilt-laden Jarrod. Elizabeth MacCanish and Hester Convers were both of San Francisco society, but they unquestionably did not share the same circle of close friends. One woman knew of the other, for certain, though Elizabeth did not have a lofty opinion of Miss Convers and her larks; and only Miss Convers knew of her opinion of Miss MacCanish.

"You mean to tell me," Elizabeth could hear herself say through the dull ringing in her ears, "Nick—and Hester Convers!"

"Lizzie," Jarrod tried to quell her astonishment by the use of the name of endearment so often used by her father, "It was an error of judgment."

Eugene could only manage a swift nod of his head when Elizabeth turned back to him for confirmation. The whole account was relayed to Elizabeth over plenty of wine, and a good supper. To Elizabeth's utter astonishment, Nick Barkley had engaged himself to Hester Convers, having met her through a mutual acquaintance in San Francisco two months prior. The lady had readily accepted Nick's very hasty proposal, more so for his wealth and family name than for the man, himself.

The pair had travelled immediately back to the Barkley Ranch to announce an engagement, only for Hester to quickly determine that her enjoyment of the association of a great number of gentleman admirers was much more to her liking than the prospect of being the wife of a rancher, and as was her habit she quickly made untoward advances to Heath. The whole business ended with Nick and Heath in a fistfight after a logging camp dance, with Nick tumbling down a ravine, cruelly injuring his spine. Hester returned, without a good deal of regret on her part, to San Francisco society; leaving the Barkley family to mend their wounds, and the brothers to make amends for their fires, seen and unseen.

"Shocking!" Elizabeth replied aloud, then soughed beneath her breath in Gaelic, "Tochaltóir Óir!" She wet her parched lips, asking, "Nick, is he recovered?"

"He is, Elizabeth," Jarrod reached out to take her hand in comfort. "Nick's just fine."

"He's impetuous," Elizabeth declared, though secretly it was one of the aspects she found charming in Nick's character, "and that woman is ridiculous."

Jarrod chuckled at Elizabeth's passion, and shrugged, "Well, yes, I think you have a grasp on the affair; but Elizabeth, Nick has changed some in three years; a lot in the last six since father died. He's had to grow up; the ranch is his responsibility. He knows full well that mother expects him to own that duty, and," Jarrod thought a moment, and smiled, "I suspect he thinks it's his time to settle down. Family has always meant a great deal to Nick."

Elizabeth's face appeared flushed. "I've had too much wine," she muttered in her slight brogue, and excused herself to visit the powder room. The dining room had become uncomfortably hot with the bodies of patrons and the heat from the fire. Elizabeth wound her way through tables and diners and once alone she wiped the perspiration from her neck and cheeks with a damp, cool towel and held it alternately against her ears, which were scarlet in color on hearing the recount of Nick and Hester Convers.

When Elizabeth returned to the table, she felt somewhat better, and was able to finish the remainder of her supper and enjoy the good company of her dear companions. It seemed, however, that the presence of Hester Convers taunted Elizabeth the rest of the evening; the sound of the woman laughing gaily at the hollow drivel offered by her many admirers in the room disturbed Elizabeth's countenance like pin-pricks to the skin. It could not be jealousy that provoked such ire, Elizabeth assured herself, but the total lack of propriety of the manners of Hester Convers, and the idiocy with which men were so easily smitten by the face of a pretty flirt.

Elizabeth MacCanish could unquestionably turn a man's head when entering a room, and normally did, but it was not in her character to use such charms to improper advantage. There were very few eligible women in San Francisco. It had been a town built by men, for men, however the women who had chosen to make the young city their home were primarily pioneers. They were modern women who took up trades of photography, publishing, and science; and evermore increasingly, women suffragettes; and then there were fortune hunters like Miss Convers.

Jarrod, Gene and Elizabeth made their way to quit the restaurant for their carriage when Elizabeth overhead Hester Convers telling three dandy gentlemen, "They are the brothers of the man I told you about in Stockton. I simply couldn't see myself as the doting wife of some rancher from the valley."

Elizabeth was confident this comment was meant for her benefit, as a dismissal of the company she was keeping that night, as well as for the amusement of the vain San Francisco snobbery. Certainly, no decent woman could wish to demean Nicholas Barkley, or the good life he had undoubtedly planned for his prospective bride.

As she passed, Elizabeth turned to Miss Convers and her admirers; a storm welling in the gaze of the young woman's bluish-green eyes, as she angrily questioned, "What sort of elegance, Miss Convers, exists in a woman who would torment a respectable man? I pity you; I don't believe you will ever know the joy of being loved so well, as you could have been loved by a rancher from the valley."

Elizabeth held fast to Gene's arm to steady herself, her mind and head spinning from the exhibition of her frankness, and the wine; and Gene took her out of the building. Jarrod, however, delayed; long enough to cast a satisfied and amused grin in the direction of Hester Convers and her astonished entourage.

"Miss MacCanish!" a handsome young fellow in a smart brown pinstripe suit exclaimed on meeting Elizabeth on Market Street the following afternoon.

"Good day to you, Mr. Haight."

"Please, call me Harry."

Elizabeth colored. "Harry."

"What brings you out today?" the young gentleman asked.

At two and twenty he was a few years Elizabeth's junior; a dandy fellow, quite handsome in appearance, whose father Mr. Henry Haight had made a fortune during the gold rush as a city bank manager for the Banking House of Page, Bacon & Co. Harry's mother was of a society family from Connecticut, her marriage arranged by her father, and young Harry lived yet with his parents in a majestic stone mansion on the hill. He had danced with Elizabeth at a party not long ago and had made up his mind to become better acquainted with the beautiful and accomplished Miss MacCanish, for she had all the allure of a woman of good society, without the deprivation of sense.

"A little shopping brings me out and about," she smiled in answer to his question, "and now I am for home."

"Please," he entreated in eagerness, "join me for afternoon tea at the Palace Hotel. I'll tell your driver to park in front. Shall we walk there together?" Harry extended a gallant arm of resolve, and Elizabeth slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow.

Refreshment was certainly what Elizabeth had needed, and Harry Haight was good company, even if he was a Nob Hill swell. "Rumor has it," Harry grinned, intently watching Elizabeth sip her cream tea, "that you put Hester Convers in her place last night."

Elizabeth coughed as she swallowed the tea. "That is simply idle gossip, Mr. Haight."

"Harry," he corrected her. "I think not; and I congratulate you on managing it."

Elizabeth felt annoyed at the mere mention of the woman. "In ways too numerous to count, Miss Convers has hurt my good friends deeply."

Harry pondered a moment, coolly finishing a tea sandwich. "Then she did deserve it, Elizabeth," he allowed himself the ease of addressing his companion by her familiar name; which Elizabeth allowed. "I'll take you to your carriage," he said once they had finished tea, "but may I call on you one afternoon?"

"Harry," she dismissed his objective, "your parents are not likely to wish you to know a girl whose family were immigrants."

"Why not?" he was indifferent to her statement. "Your parents had wealth, and so now do you. I'd say you are a match well fit for any man of means."

Jarrod's business in San Francisco lasted three weeks, and he planned to leave in two days, stopping in Berkley to fetch Eugene home to Stockton for the summer months. Elizabeth surprised him with a visit to his office that morning.

"You are just in time for me to take you to lunch, lovely lady."

"That would be grand Jarrod, but that's not why I've come. I've come to seek your counsel and I could use your good advice. I have a decision I must make."

"Oh?" Jarrod was curious.

"Perhaps it is time to consider selling the ranch," Elizabeth pondered, more than she proposed as a certain possibility.

"Sell the ranch? There's no need for that."

"It does no good vacant, and I've heard of interest in the property in the past year, Jarrod."

"The family hoped you would come back to Stockton one day, Lizzie; perhaps to settle there with a husband. I know that was the dream of your father. And Nick…Nick would sooner give up his left foot than see that land go to a stranger."

"Nick," Elizabeth sighed his name in a manner of some disenchantment.

Jarrod thought a moment and from his heart he proposed, "What if I were to make you an offer?"

Elizabeth sat on the large leather chair across from Jarrod's mahogany desk. It seemed as though her petite frame had been swallowed up by the formidable piece of office furniture; she looked small, miserable, and confused.

"I've been thinking about Nick," she sighed again, "and that you say he has changed in the last few years, Jarrod."

Jarrod folded his arms. "What about Nick?" he responded, wanting to know more of Elizabeth's mind as concerned his brother.

She declined to speak further on the subject, instead choosing to say, "I left Stockton for San Francisco to prove to myself that I was a woman of strength and independence, a woman of a modern society. I suppose I have achieved that aim to satisfy my vanity, yet my parents will never know the result. I have only myself to please; and to be honest I've found that independence is a very lonely business for a woman. As for society; the more people I meet in this city, the more I feel out of place, a foreigner."

"Nonsense," Jarrod took her by the hands as she stood up from the chair. "You are no more a foreigner in this land than my family."

"That's not exactly what I mean," Elizabeth smiled.

Jarrod was resolute; inasmuch as he had seen a change in Nick, he now saw the same in Elizabeth, and he was convinced that what he was about to say and do was right for Elizabeth, as well as for the benefit of his own family.

"Come back with me, Lizzie. Come back to Stockton on Friday with me and Gene and stay at the ranch with us; Mother would want it that way, we all want it that way."

Jarrod drew her close and kissed her forehead, "Say you will. For a week or two; for a month, whatever suits you, honey? You can't decide to sell the ranch after being away from Stockton for so long."

Jarrod was a voice of reason in an otherwise foggy realm, and by his good sense he made Elizabeth feel secure, as when she had lived and had the good counsel of her dear father. She nodded in agreement, and expressed the desire to return to her house to pack her things for the trip.

"You had better wire your mother, Jarrod."

He smiled; relieved by her decision; his enduring love for the lass reflected in his expression, and he replied, "There's no need."

Jack found Miss MacCanish in the morning room. She was humming while wrapping packages in blue paper to be placed in a trunk which was to be loaded on the train for Stockton the following morning.

"Mr. Haight?" Elizabeth was surprised when Jack announced a visitor for the mistress.

"Yes, Miss."

"Very well, Jack. Please show him to the parlor."

Elizabeth delayed a few moments before fixing her hair and smoothing her skirts to be presentable enough to receive the caller. She then made her way to the parlor.

"Good morning, Mr. Haight," she greeted.

Harry Haight was smartly dressed in a tailored blue morning suit with a starched white collared shirt. He was the picture of gentlemanly perfection, and he was well aware of that fact.

"Good morning," he grinned, "Harry."

Elizabeth bent to his trying insistence on the familiar; "Harry…will you have a seat?"

The young man chose a comfortable armchair and crossed a nattily dressed leg over the other. The smell of costly spice cologne scented the room as he smoothed out the fabric of his sac coat with hands so neat and clean, hands that had never been made to saddle a horse, till the earth, or mend a fencepost.

"I've come to hear of a party, of which I have received my invitation; at the residence of John Gough this coming Saturday night. I would be pleased by your good company, dear Elizabeth."

Elizabeth guardedly grinned as Harry Haight certainly possessed a superior and determined manner. "I am flattered, Harry, though I must decline."

"Surely I have not been outdone by another man," he contemplated momentarily. "I've only just received the invitation this morning."

To this reply, Elizabeth bit her lip to quash a giggle. "Not at all, but I am leaving tomorrow morning on the nine o'clock to Stockton."

"Stockton?" Harry soughed in disbelief. "To such a place, and alone?"

"I am traveling and staying with friends, Mr. Jarrod Barkley and his family."

"Barkley," Harry pronounced the name with a harrumph. "I know of the Stockton Barkleys, but we have never crossed paths. There are quite a few sons, so I hear."

"Yes, there are four grown sons; and a daughter."

"And the sons; all married?"

"Not a one," Elizabeth somewhat enjoyed his prying.

"Why go now?"

"Stockton is where my father's ranch is located, and I've been thinking of perhaps offering the land up for sale."

"Indeed," this was a welcome revelation to Harry. "My father is wanting to purchase farm land in the valley. Perhaps he and I should travel to Stockton ourselves and look it over; particularly since you will be there to receive us."

Elizabeth laughed aloud at Harry's presumptuousness, and teased, "You would not last a week in such a place."

"Eh, now," Harry's right brow arched with offense.

"Ranching is a difficult and demanding life; it is not the sort of reality you were born to, Harry. Besides, Stockton can be a rough and tumble place. There are cowboys and miners, even outlaws in waterfront saloons, no better than the Barbary Coast; all riding horses and mules. I can only think of a few families with a proper carriage; and the men of the town, their clothes dusty and neglected, with gun belts worn low for a quick draw."

Elizabeth's words painted a shocking scene for Harry's benefit; Elizabeth, like most members of her family, was a fair storyteller. Stockton was a town peculiar to itself, differing from any town, but particularly a town in the east. It had begun as a small camp called Tuleburg at the northern end of the San Joaquin Valley, and its name was changed soon after Tom and Victoria Barkley had decided to make the area their new home. Tom had seen potential in the valley and the surrounding hills,; and the young couple was eager to be an integral part of molding that potential into a lifestyle of good living for their coming family.

In Stockton, there was little visible distinction by dress and accoutrement between a wealthy man and that of a tradesman or laborer. The wealthy man earned his money by hard work and sweat, the same as most folk; his home and his lands were close to being held sacred and his family, being of pioneering stock, was everything of value. Experience had taught the western settler to be wary of a stranger, and Elizabeth was not persuaded that Harry Haight, by his haughty manner and his apparel of well-to-do idleness would make him a welcome visitor, let alone an acceptable resident.

Harry was mortified, clambered to his feet and suggested, "Then I shouldn't see you go to Stockton, Elizabeth. Remain in San Francisco where it's safe. This Jarrod Barkley, let him handle the particulars of any sale."

"That he will, if the occasion arises; but I do need to go for a time. I want to see the place again, for myself."

Harry looked wretched. "Well I suppose you have set your mind to it," he frowned. "May I ask how long you intend to be gone?"

"A while," Elizabeth confessed, "perhaps quite a while."

There was nothing for Harry to do but shrug off the rejection, and Jack brought out the gentleman's Tammany. With a stealthy nod from Elizabeth, the good houseman showed young Harry to the front door.

"Are you certain you won't delay your trip?" he asked of Elizabeth again while cocking the hat on his head. "It would save me the trouble of engaging another young lady for the party."

Elizabeth sighed, smiling as civilly as decorum would allow. "As tempting as your offer is, Harry," she exhaled again, "I'm afraid any such engagement is impossible."

Elizabeth's description of Stockton had not been that fanciful and farfetched. As the train pulled into the station, she could see those cowboys and miners she had described to Harry Haight, along with disheveled children running to and fro, and women dressed in their country fashions, suitable for utility as well as an outing in town on boarded walkways. Stockton's streets were unpaved, different from the brick thoroughfares of San Francisco, which had just built its Clay Street cable cars for the convenience of the citizens. Stockton's mode of transportation was a saddle horse, a buggy or a buckboard. The scene before her made Elizabeth smile, and she was excited to be back in such a place, albeit a little fretful for her state of overdress.

At once she saw Victoria and Audra Barkley waiting on the station platform. Audra caught sight of Elizabeth through the car window and squealed with delight, pointing out her friend to her mother. Victoria's face beamed, for not only was she happy to have her sons back home, but her heart was full of joy at finally seeing Elizabeth return. Jarrod helped Elizabeth onto the platform from the train, and before greeting her sons, Victoria rushed to Elizabeth and held out her arms; and the young woman was pleased to be received by such an affectionate, motherly embrace.

"My dear, Lizzie," Victoria exclaimed, squeezing Elizabeth, clasping her pretty face within her hands. "This is a surprise!" she uttered, looking as if she would burst into happy tears.

Audra was laughing and weeping, and when her mother was done with her greeting, the younger girl enveloped her friend and sniffled, "Lizzie, you've come back!"

Elizabeth kissed her friend's tender cheek. "I have," she replied. "I think it about time for a visit, don't you?"

Audra would rather have heard Elizabeth say she was back for good, but she told her friend in unequivocal terms, "You had better stay some time. Stay a good long time!"

"I wanted Jarrod to wire you that I was to come to Stockton."

"And spoil the chance to witness this cheerful reunion?" Jarrod laughed incredulously. "Not a chance!"

Victoria was insistent, slipping her arm through the young woman's elbow; "You never have to be announced, dear Lizzie. This is a good day; you will finally meet Heath, and Silas will bend over backward to make you comfortable, and have spring flowers in your room every evening; and Nick," Victoria paused, always having suspected her second son's ardent affection for Elizabeth MacCanish. "Nick won't believe his eyes."

"He might even be speechless!" Audra laughed for teasing her boisterous brother; and Elizabeth laughed as well, though she wondered if that would be true.

Silas, the Barkley's major domo, and Ciego, the ranch hand were elated to see Miss MacCanish when the surrey arrived in front of the great white ranch house. She was not above giving them both a fond hug, and they carried her baggage into the house, putting it away in the best guest quarters. As Victoria had predicted, it was not long before Silas had a fresh bouquet of early white roses and trailing greenery placed in an ivy bowl on the nightstand beside the bed where Elizabeth was to sleep.

"Come with me," Victoria took Elizabeth by the hand once she was settled, and they walked out to the farthest corral where Nick and Heath were culling unbroken horses; determining which were best for breeding with blooded stock and which best for breaking as utility horses.

"My, oh my," Heath was the first to see the oncoming party, his interest engaged more than normal. "Who is that beauty with the auburn hair?"

Nick whirled about, and his expressions were comical as they transformed from curiosity, to uncertainty, to recognition, in rapid succession. "I don't believe it," he expressed his doubt aloud, then he grinned broadly, "that beauty, Brother Heath; she is _my_ beauty."

Nick wasted no time in striding through the gate of the corral. At first he stopped dead still in front of Elizabeth, swiping his hat from his head and eyeing her with trepidation and a little hesitation; and when she smiled and softly spoke his name in the way in which he had wanted to hear for so long, the temptation was too great not to wrap his arms around her, lift her gently from her feet and twirl her about in outright elation. Elizabeth laughed aloud, for there was little pomp and ceremony between the pair; they had been friends and companions since childhood.

"I told you he'd be speechless," Audra made her family laugh.

"Welcome home, Lizzie," Nick breathed gently near Elizabeth's ear; the floral scent of her hair ever so intoxicating and happily familiar.

She returned the gesture by whispering back in the same manner, "I've missed you, Nick."

Nick carefully placed Elizabeth back on the ground, and although he could barely take his eyes off her, he glanced at Heath and introduced the two. Elizabeth was not troubled by a little trail dirt and the smell of horses, and when Heath politely smiled and greeted her by tipping his hat, she took his hand and held it fast, telling him how many good things she had heard of him since his arrival, and how happy she was to finally meet in person. There was no jealousy or distrust in Nick right then, for he knew Elizabeth's warmth and manners were genuine, whereas in Hester, he had not been convinced at first, and after a little time, his suspicions had been painfully confirmed.

"You boys had better come in and bathe before supper," Victoria pointed at Nick and Heath. "I have a feeling we'll be having something very good to eat, and I'm in no doubt of a special dessert."

The Barkley men all looked clean and sharp that evening, and Audra bounded down the stairs dressed in a pretty gown that Elizabeth had brought. It was a little short and a bit snug, but this did not deter Audra. There was nothing Audra enjoyed more than shopping with Elizabeth, and learning of the latest fashions when in San Francisco, but having Elizabeth loan her such a fine garment was satisfaction enough. She showed it to her mother and brothers, and Victoria looked gratefully to Elizabeth for loving her daughter as dearly as an elder sister might.

"I've brought a few things for you all," Elizabeth's voice hinted with the melodious tone it displayed when she was pleased, and she looked to the family's matriarch.

"Come and have supper first, you must be hungry, dear."

The dining table had been lengthened to accommodate the addition of Elizabeth and Gene, and it was bedecked with intricate candelabras and a large flowered centerpiece. Silas had done himself proud by the freshly polished table settings, pristine china, and sparkling pressed glass stemware. Supper was simple, several roasted chickens, crispy potatoes, spring asparagus, fresh fruit and cheese, and a good Barkley cellar wine. It was ranch fare, and Elizabeth found it delicious and comforting.

After supper there was good conversation to be had around the table as was the custom in the Barkley household, and Elizabeth was happy to be included. The men spoke of the day's work and discussed the latest cattle prices, and the progress of what crops had recently been planted in the spring fields. Jarrod told the family of his legal dealings in San Francisco concerning the ranch and other investments, and what little he could of his latest client's case. Audra seemed inattentive, and when the men finished discussing business, she asked if it was time to see the things Elizabeth had brought. This interested Eugene more than the price of cattle, and so they offered to help Elizabeth fetch the packages she had wrapped in light blue paper before leaving San Francisco.

Audra was the first to tear the wrapping from her package. Inside a box was a beautiful gown of green silk, which Elizabeth had sent for from Godey's. Eugene opened his package next. He was proud to find a satin waistcoat of Barclay tartan, composed of thin white stripes crossed by larger black stripes on a background of solid butterscotch. Jarrod and Nick each received a bottle of good scotch; and Jarrod a box of Celestiales cigars and for Nick a box of Macanudo Cubans traded by his favorite tobacconist on Market Street, and for Heath, a pouch of fine Turkish smoking tobacco, and a bottle of MacCanish brandy. There was even a box of saltwater taffy for Silas, as Elizabeth remembered he had a sweet tooth.

Victoria opened her package last, insisting that Elizabeth should not have brought so many gifts, however when she opened a paper box and saw the beautiful lace tablecloth inside, intricately detailed with scenes of wild stags and magnificent trees and ferns, she gasped.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful."

"I'm happy you like it," Elizabeth smiled.

"Well," Jarrod announced, "join us in the study ladies."

"In a bit, Jarrod," Victoria replied. "Once the table is cleared, Elizabeth and I are going to have a good look at this tablecloth."

Audra scurried to her room to try on her gown and admire herself in the full length mirror, and the men all escaped to the study to have a glass of the fine scotch and a smoke, and perhaps a game of billiards at the new table.

Elizabeth and Victoria spread the tablecloth across the dining table and both women stood back to admire it. "It was tatted on the Isle of Iona," Elizabeth declared. "I have some lace that my mother brought with her when they left Scotland. I would go and pull it out of a cedar chest as a little girl and drape it over my head to admire it, and my mother put it away for my wedding veil, with a mother-of-pearl comb to fasten it in my hair."

Victoria gazed attentively at Elizabeth. The sweet girl she had once known had grown so lovely, wholly a woman; and Victoria thought of how proud Elizabeth's parents would have been of their daughter. It had been difficult for Elizabeth to find her place in the world after her parents were gone. Her family had been her entire life, yet when she had been left alone Elizabeth had chosen to venture out and live in the city, and learn of what civilization had to offer beyond the rustic shelter of ranch life. Victoria had never heard Elizabeth speak of marriage, or any plans which concerned a wedding. It was remarkable to hear her account of the lace for a wedding veil, and Victoria thought perhaps Elizabeth was entertaining the idea of matrimony.

"Are you engaged to be married, dear?" Victoria pried.

Elizabeth turned; wide-eyed toward her friend, giggling as she did so, in discomfiture. "Me? I am most definitely not!"

Victoria laughed at such a reaction. "I thought perhaps you were here to tell us some news."

"No," Elizabeth shied away from any revelations, thinking of what only Jarrod was so far aware of, in the possible sale of the ranch. "No news, but Victoria..."

"Yes, my dear?"

"I have heard what happened to Nick, I mean, what happened between Nick and Hester Convers. Jarrod, Eugene and I saw her one evening out at supper, and the boys told me of the broken engagement. I'm very sorry that it ended badly; it must have been difficult for Nick, and for you. I couldn't bear to see him suffer, if I was his mother, that is."

Victoria could readily see Elizabeth's distress; almost pain in finding the words to express her regret to who she thought was a brokenhearted mother for her son's rejection and the loss of a prospective daughter-in-law.

"Elizabeth," Victoria laid a comforting arm across the slender back of the young woman, "Nick has recovered from his injuries, and I'm not sure that after what he had to learn from the affair, he is so miserable. As for myself, I simply did not believe that the match was right, and I had much prefer that if Nick suffered at all, it would be that his pride suffered for having been so hasty in his choices. Better to know that a woman will not be a good wife before the marriage than after, and Nick learned a lesson in the ways of the world."

"I suppose," Elizabeth agreed; the tautness of her face would have eased and her heart might have settled back into a normal cadence, were it not for one more question in her mind. "Did he love her?"

Victoria paused at the enquiry, perhaps for not knowing the true answer, and perhaps for wondering why Elizabeth would ask. "I don't know the answer, only that he thought he could have loved the girl, had she been the proper choice."

Elizabeth sighed to herself; her mind and heart finding no real comfort in Victoria's answer. Then again, Elizabeth wasn't sure that had she known the truth to her question, the knowledge would have given her comfort.

"That lace for your veil," Victoria disrupted Elizabeth's thoughts, "You'll have to show it to me soon."

Nick was content, sitting in an armchair, his feet up on a stool in the library, while he puffed on a Macanudo. "This is a damn fine smoke," he exhaled with satisfaction. "Glad to be home, Jarrod?"

"I am," Jarrod confirmed. "San Francisco is trying at times."

"I think it's exciting," Eugene admitted, intently listening to his elder brothers and nursing a scant jigger of the scotch, "I had a fine time at the Cliff House, particularly when Elizabeth scolded Hester Convers."

At the mention of her name, Heath felt uncomfortable; and Nick dropped his feet to the floor to exclaim, "What?"

Jarrod sighed. "We saw Hester out at supper one night, which was when Elizabeth heard of what happened between you two."

All the easiness Nick had been relishing at having his family home was gone in an instant. "You told Elizabeth?"

"She was bound to find out, Nick," Jarrod did his best to soothe his hot-tempered sibling. "Hester was boasting to a group of admirers of having broken off your engagement. Elizabeth overheard and just told her off; and let me tell you, it was worth witnessing."

Nick got up from his chair to pace. His jaw clenched as he strode to and fro, and his brothers could see his unhappiness for he had not thought about the two women ever meeting, let alone engaged in discussing his mistakes. Jarrod took the decanter of scotch, poured a glass for himself and handed another to Nick.

"It was the darnedest thing, Nick. Elizabeth was as mad as a hornet, and for once Hester was speechless. They are not the best of friends by any means."

Nick took a drink of the scotch before saying crossly, "Why would they be? Those two are nothing alike."

"Boys, give Nick and I a minute alone, will you?"

"Nick," Jarrod laid a hand on his brother's shoulder and gave him a nudge; "maybe it's time."

"Time for what, Jarrod?"

"To renew what we both know has always been between you and Elizabeth."

Nick sighed and rubbed at his eyes, then swiped back the unruly lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead while pacing. "Maybe."

"I think if you don't, there may come a time you'll regret hesitating. It may come sooner than you realize."

Nick exhaled in some doubt, "If it was me she wanted, Jarrod, why go to San Francisco at all? I would have married Elizabeth on any day of her choosing. All she had to do was say so."

"I'm not sure that's how it works, Nick."

Nick and Connell MacCanish had been close friends, the sort of relationship between a mentor and pupil, particularly after Tom Barkley had been killed by the Western and Coastal railroad men. Nick took over the management of the ranch, and Connell had taken him under his tutelage where Tom had left off much too soon with his second son. Nick had all the natural ability and desire of a cattleman. He had an easy way with livestock, and a fine head for management, and he spent a good deal of time picking Connell's brain to become one of the most successful ranchers in the state.

When Tom had died, Jarrod had been established in his law practice, Eugene but a young boy, and as the middle son Nick had not yet been prepared to have been left to his own campaign. He had grown up a determined and rowdy youth, often disciplined by his father for his boisterousness and rash choices, but like his father he stood firm in his beliefs and had grown into a fine, principled man.

Nick had survived a difficult conflict of a divided nation by his wits and skills in warfare, and his ability to handle a gun; far removed for some years from his parents, siblings, friends, and the California land he loved to work with Tom. When he returned home it took time to settle back into ranch life. Tom's death had affected Nick the most of all the Barkley progeny. Everyone mourned in their own way, but Nick soon put aside his anger and grief and found he wanted nothing more than to carry on the life his father had built, and he longed for a good woman to share his dreams. A marriage much like his parents; though he had little concept then at twenty-two of what it was to be a good husband.

Elizabeth had acknowledged this of Nick; she also had known of her own failings when Connell had died, and although Nick had desired nothing more than to continue life on the Barkley Ranch with Connell's daughter as his bride; he had never made that wish crystal clear to Elizabeth. When she left for San Francisco with her belongings in tow, Nick said his goodbyes with more anguish than he had felt before or since with any other girl he had ever known. His young man's pride kept him from uttering his forlorn emotions, his desires for her, and he grudgingly and a little crossly let the girl go. He had not been to see her in San Francisco; in his stubbornness he thought that was what Elizabeth wanted.

"Nick, Elizabeth came to see me at the office in San Francisco, wondering of my opinion at possibly selling the ranch."

"No," Nick rejected the idea, reacting just as Jarrod had suspected. "Why would she want to do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should ask her?"

"It's not my place, Jarrod." Nick felt wretched at the prospect of any sort of rejection by another woman; it seemed too soon to lay his heart wide open as he had with Hester; and he was disinclined to reveal any further feelings on the subject.

"Nick, Jarrod?" the son's heard their mother's voice. "Are we intruding?"

Jarrod's brows furrowed, but Nick denied that there was any need for them to be alone with their private business. Nick was intent at the task of studying Elizabeth that evening. Jarrod's disclosure of Elizabeth's desire to sell Connell's ranch had upset Nick considerably. He'd come to think of the property as an extension of himself, he worked and cared for the land; it held memories of Connell and it was Elizabeth's only solid connection to the valley. He wondered if life would have been different had he not lost those years to the war; if his father and Connell had not died far too soon, and if he had only swallowed his young man's pride and told Elizabeth how dearly he held her in esteem, and pulled her off that train.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Audra was the last Barkley to be seated for breakfast in the morning. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen and  
>Victoria asked her daughter if their guest was still asleep.<p>

"No," Audra replied to her mother, "she's in the kitchen with Silas preparing a wellington for supper."

This news was met with grins of anticipation from Nick and Jarrod. Heath asked, "What the devil is a  
>wellington?"<p>

"A slice of heaven," Jarrod responded, and Nick agreed.

"She's a guest," Victoria marked, and got up from her place at the head of the table to bustle into the kitchen.

"Lizzie dear, come have breakfast; you shouldn't be cooking!"

"I'm not one to be idle, and if I'm going to stay at this ranch I'd like to be useful." Elizabeth smiled, "It gives  
>me pleasure to be tending to a family again, Victoria."<p>

On hearing such a petition, Victoria thought it best to accept the young woman's desire, and she joined Silas in looking over Elizabeth's shoulder, watching her nimble hands roll out dough to encase the fine looking beef loin Elizabeth had chosen, along with a mixture of mushrooms and shallots. She was adept at making the dish having helped her mother prepare it on many occasions. The seams of dough were gently sealed, and Elizabeth cut small shapes of leaves from the remaining dough to adorn the top. Once it was finished, the wellington went into the icebox until the proper time to be baked that evening.

Elizabeth sat down to join the others for breakfast. "I think I'll walk to Campbelton this morning," she  
>announced.<p>

Nick looked up from inspecting the coffee cup he held in his hands; "I'll have Ciego saddle you a horse."

Audra snickered at Elizabeth's reaction to the mere mention of such an idea. Elizabeth had blanched, but patiently and pointedly replied, "Horses and I don't get on Nick, remember?"

"Then he can take you in the buggy."

"I don't mind walking."

Nick thought a moment, remembering how Elizabeth had always loved to amble about the countryside, looking at the plants and flowers as she went; and he shrugged realizing argument was pointless. "Well," he said with authority, "You'd best go early and come back before three o'clock. It seems to cloud up and storm in the afternoons. Today isn't likely to be much different."

"I will," Elizabeth was touched by his concern, yet badgered him good naturedly; "I'll be back in plenty of time to finish making your supper."

* * *

><p>Elizabeth walked along the road toward the west, and Campbelton Ranch; a path that was familiar from her youth. It had barely changed at all, the same fences and fields, only the trees seemed larger and fuller. She stopped to inspect a newly planted field, vibrantly green with the sprouts of spring barley, here and there a scattering of sunflowers, the heads not nearly ready to open, and the promise of purple thistle and cattails along the drainage ditch beside the road.<p>

Busy robins scuttled to and fro on the ground in search of worms, stopping to drink from small puddles leftover from the rain of the following night. Fat quail in pairs emerged from beneath scattered mounds of sagebrush, their newly hatched chicks scurrying behind in a frenzied attempt to keep up with their parents. Black and white magpies majestically soared from fencepost to fencepost, and blue scrub jays hollered as Elizabeth came too close to the trees which lodged their nests.

Half the distance from the Barkley Ranch to Campbelton was a place known as Poppy Hill. That was not its actual name, it had none, for it was merely a knoll with several oak trees, a negligible hill with a relatively flat top and a narrow grassy travel-way leading from the road to the plateau. The surrounding lands had been fenced long ago by Nick, Tom and Connell preventing cattle and horses from grazing there, and so Poppy Hill became a beloved spot to Elizabeth for the wildflowers that bloomed undisturbed in the spring and early summer. Scattered throughout poppies were wild purple lupine, yellow cinquefoil, fiddlenecks and clover, but the poppies were the attraction.

For several weeks a profusion of golden blossoms covered the sides and top of the knoll, a plethora of yellows and reds, yet mostly vibrant petals of orange, a palette of color to rival the finest coastal sunset. It was an odd thing about poppies; they looked so delicate, yet were oh so hardy. They flourished and bloomed whether a year had been wet or dry, though the flowers would not last when picked, and the plants with fern-like foliage were disobliging to transplant. The flowers themselves opened wide in daylight, worshiping the sun, and closed up tightly at night as though basking in all that warmth made them deserving of a good night's sleep. They spread and multiplied by the wind scattering scores of tiny black seeds when the flower stems had dried; the proliferation of their kind could not be stopped.

Nick had known where to find Elizabeth if she were not at home. "_Try Poppy Hill, son_," Connell would say to his young friend in the late afternoon when school had let out, Nick's chores were done and he had a little time before supper. He would race his Modoc pony down the road, make a sharp turn up the grassy travel-way to the top of the knoll, to find the girl sitting among the flowers. Naturally and medicinally, the poppies were soothing to the senses, and the sight of them in mass, the flowers seeming to float above the grasses, ebbing and flowing in a slight breeze was nearly hypnotic.

Nick would lay among the flowers to rest and listen to Elizabeth sing folk songs taught to her by her family, or read aloud from one of the many miniature bound books she would buy when the family was in San Francisco. Elizabeth never went anywhere without a book, and she read to Nick the classics, Shakespeare, Bronte, Burnett, Dickens, Austen, and Sir Walter Scott.

Elizabeth smiled at seeing Poppy Hill once more as she passed by; she smiled for the memories of youth and fancy the sight of the emerging poppies conjured in her mind, and smiled for the recollection of a gangly, boyish Nick. Those had been happy days for a young girl and boy; days when families were whole, a country was at peace, and life was measured and simple. Neither of them had possessed a care then of what was expected; the past was an echo which belonged to others, and the future too distant to matter.

It was not much further for Elizabeth to walk until she came to the gates leading to the empty ranch house at Campbelton. The house had remained vacant and locked since she had left for San Francisco, yet it was no worse for wear, accepting perhaps in need of a fresh coat of paint. The Barkleys had seen to the upkeep of the place, though the stables and corrals were devoid of animals, which saddened Elizabeth. Campbelton had been a lively place in its heyday. It was not uncommon for fifteen to twenty men to have lived in the bunkhouse at any one time, particularly during branding and roundup.

Elizabeth strolled along the bare side yard where Rose and her daughter had once tended a sprawling garden of vegetables, berries, and herbs. Elizabeth may not have had a way with horses and cattle, she left that to her father and Nick, but she had a proclivity for growing vegetables, flowers and fruits. She loved the feel of rich, warm soil on her hands, and while at Campbelton had always seemed to be carrying a wooden trug and a pair of shears. She pruned and snipped, watered and weeded, and her garden had produced a bounty often shared with the Barkleys and other families, for the MacCanish's rarely had gone anywhere empty handed.

If a friend was ill, Elizabeth had brought them soup and savory scones; if a family was hungry Connell had sent wheat or sacks of cornmeal, vegetables and beef; and Rose had made tea scones, biscuits, and cakes for newlyweds, newcomers, and young mothers in confinement with their infants. Harvest time was the busiest time of year, and the MacCanish's and Barkley's lent a hand to those small farmers who could not afford to pay men on the hire to pick and pack their crops.

Apple harvest had been Elizabeth's favorite, when the air turned cool and crisp. Nick and Jarrod would climb the trees and throw down the apples for Elizabeth to scurry about, catch and bag. What was toil, seemed more like a game; and when the chore was finished the families all sat at long tables, drank fresh pressed cider and ate their fill of harvest supper.

Behind the ranch house at Campbelton near a stand of quaking aspen and a Spanish jacaranda were the three headstones marking the resting place of Elizabeth's family; her mother, father, and the grave of an infant boy, born four years after the family had made their home in Stockton. The baby had come much too early, in the winter, and had not survived two weeks. Elizabeth sat down in the grass beside a tree, absent in wistful memories; humming a tune her father had once loved. For Elizabeth, lost in thought, time was meaningless; but the late morning soon became afternoon, and thunderclouds began to form in the southern sky just as Nick had predicted.

Nick and Heath had eaten a quick lunch of sandwiches near the corral, still occupied at culling horses; and when the clouds rolled in and the sky blackened they thought it best to return to the house for the day, after stowing the tack securely in the tack room within the barn. Heath had gone directly in the house to bathe, and it was nearly a half hour later when Nick marched into the house, tossed his dusty hat onto the small round table in the foyer, and purposefully took a look into the great living room where Audra was stitching a handkerchief and Victoria arranged flowers in a treasured old vase which many years ago had been a wedding gift from her good friend Minnie Grant.

"Where's Elizabeth?" Nick asked.

Audra looked up from her stitching. "She's not back yet."

"Not back? It's well past three o'clock."

"She'll be back any moment, Nicholas," Victoria assured her son, yet he went to the French doors, opening them to assess the darkening sky. A strong wind swirled dust from the courtyard, and Nick pulled the doors shut, quickly fastening the latches. With one purpose in mind he strode to a desk to secure a ring of keys; then made for the small table, reclaiming the large-brimmed, brown felt Stetson. He called for Silas to fetch his overcoat, and the elder man returned in an instant with Mr. Nick's request.

"I'm going to look for her; if she hasn't left yet she'll get caught in a downpour. We might have to wait it out in the ranch house or the barn. I know the way she would've gone." Nick abruptly left the house through the front door, muttering to himself of bad weather and foolish young women.

It was scarcely ten minutes when Nick reined his winded horse onto the grounds of Campbelton Ranch, and though the surroundings looked deserted, he dismounted and tramped around back to find Elizabeth sitting beneath a tree by the gravestones. He walked up behind her, not bothering to mask the sound of his footsteps or the jingling of his spurs. Elizabeth looked up at Nick, he had become so tall and handsome the figure of a man; a man to be esteemed by a young woman.

"Oh dear," she sighed remorsefully, "It's late, isn't it?"

"It is," Nick rested a hand on his chaps-clad hip. "Come on now," he reached out the other hand to her, "we'd best be getting back. It'll be raining in minutes." Elizabeth took his hand; strong and bolstering in its grip, and he pulled her to her feet and toward his body.

"This place," she spoke, holding onto his coat, "It looks as good as ever. I would have thought it to be overgrown and unkempt?"

He looked down at her, replying in a hush, "I come and tend to it every so often."

Elizabeth let go to turn away and ask with wounded feelings, "You can take care of my father's land, yet you could never come to see his daughter in San Francisco?"

"Hey, now," Nick's voice was gentle; "You know I don't get off the ranch much."

"I'd heard you were in the city once or twice."

Nick grimaced at the statement, "When you left here, Elizabeth, I didn't think you cared to see me."

Elizabeth spun around, singular to her character; her brows knit-together in strife at Nick's false assumption, and with the heel of her hand Elizabeth gave his chest a shove, claiming; "I never wanted anything of the sort!"

Nick grabbed her arms; his ire swelling to equal Elizabeth's; "Did you think when you left it didn't hurt," he declared, the gentleness of his voice, gone. "I waited for you to come home and now I hear you want to sell this ranch and leave for good."

"Waited for me to come home?" she queried, remembering the angst of the four years she had waited for Nick to come home from the war, praying each day he would be returning under his own power. Her vanity needed the last word. "Miss Convers is proof you did no such thing!"

For an instant Elizabeth's ill temper was subdued by Nick's tight grip on her and by the knowledge he betrayed of his pain and of her plans, until a clap of thunder startled them both.

"Don't do it, Lizzie. Don't sell."

"Look at this place," she answered Nick wretchedly. "The house is empty and useless. What am I to do with a ranch, Nick? I could never work this land myself."

"You don't have to."

Elizabeth threw up her hands in a wave of hopelessness. "I suppose I should just stay here and wait for a man as noble as Bonnie Prince Charlie to sail across the sea and save me? Better still, Edward Ferrars may come riding in with a proposal at any moment; or perhaps I should stay the course and hope for _my_ Mr. Knightly?"

Nick was mindful of her sarcasm, and he tried to recall all the champions from the books Elizabeth had ever read to him aloud on Poppy Hill. "Lizzie," he sighed, "it could be that a boy like Romeo has been here all along."

"I certainly hope not," she frowned girlishly on hearing Nick's nominated context, "that didn't work out well for Juliet at all."

Again, there was a flash of light, a crack of thunder, and large raindrops pelted down from the sky. Nick shimmied out of his coat, put it on Elizabeth and whisked the hat from his head, landing it atop her own. Although she could barely see beneath a hat two sizes too large, Elizabeth stumbled alongside the young man as he led her running toward the porch of the ranch house. Nick fumbled for the keys in his vest pocket and swiftly opened the door to the house, telling Elizabeth to go inside and wait.

Elizabeth slipped off her muddied shoes, and went to the window of the parlor to watch as Nick led Coco to the security of the barn. Before long he was running toward the house, splashing water and mud, and Elizabeth whirled about in her stocking feet, sliding across the polished floor toward a closet where she recalled leaving old blankets and towels. She gathered them in her arms and when she turned around she met toe to toe with Nick, water from his soaked hair and drenched top clothing dripping onto the wood floor.

"You look as though you've nearly drowned," she remarked at his appearance, as Nick shivered. "You'll be sick for a week if you don't take off that wet shirt and vest, and your boots as well. I will try to dry them," she said, and when Nick had done as she instructed Elizabeth handed him a towel and shook out a blanket, laying it across his shoulders. She hurriedly removed the sheet covering from a sofa to have a place to sit.

"No, no," Nick refused to soak a good piece of furniture, "the floor will do."

Elizabeth piled the rest of the blankets onto the floor and pointed for Nick to sit down. He did, and dried his hair with the towel, and then tamed it back in place with his fingers. He exhaled from the cold and the exertion of running so quickly, and grinned a little to himself for having so sheepishly followed Elizabeth's orders.

"Better now?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing at his eyes.

Nick watched as Elizabeth dried the floor, and then took his clothes to a sink and wrung them out the best she could. She came back to the parlor, trying to shake the wrinkles out of Nick's shirt before she hung it on the bannister of the staircase to dry.

"Forgive me," Elizabeth felt contrite for her outburst; "I never meant to be angry, and I feel foolish. I don't know what's wrong with me as of late."

Nick gave a nod of acceptance to the apology, although not as enthusiastically as Elizabeth would have hoped. "We're here for the duration until the rain lets up," he told her.

"Then we'll make the best of it."

Nick listened to the pelting of raindrops on the windows; the sound brought back memories and served to soothe his temper. "This reminds me of being camped along the Rappahannock in Fredericksburg, waiting out a rainstorm in the mess tent. There was nothing much to do, not much to eat; but the currier brought the post around, and handed me three letters from you. I guess the mail had finally caught up with us," he chortled at the recollection.

Another deafening crack of thunder above the house made Elizabeth jump, and her fists clenched the lapel of Nick's coat, which she still wore.

"That was right above our heads. Come here," Nick motioned to her, and Elizabeth scooted more blankets across the floor, to settle beside Nick.

He yanked a blanket from the pile and wrapped it around Elizabeth, and when she rested her shoulder against his own, Nick's arm enveloped her snugly. The kindly and tentative embrace was a welcome reassurance to them both; an apology to quell their nerves from the storm, and calm them from the price of such an outburst of resentment, which neither had ever wanted to confess they had harbored.

Nick's cheek came to rest near Elizabeth's ear, and he could smell the scent of lavender, and the peacefulness of sun and earth in her wavy auburn hair. Her locks had been secured with pins and a comb, with the exception of wayward, loose wisps having come undone by the wind, wisps that tickled at Nick's nose.

He closed his eyes, unable to fight the desire to place a kiss near her ear. When he did Elizabeth tried to smile. She took delight in Nick's offering of peace between them, yet she was wary of thinking there may be any more to the gesture than just an apology between friends.

"Tell me more, Nick, about the letters."

"Those letters were a comfort to me," he continued. "A letter would always arrive when I was missing this place the most. Of course I took some ribbing from the men, but most of the boys wanted to know what was written in them." He admitted to only reading certain parts aloud to satisfy the curiosity of the soldiers, but the rest of the missive was only for himself; read when he had a few moments alone.

Nick recalled the scent of the paper, just like the fragrance of Elizabeth's hair, and he had always kept a letter beneath the bedroll he had used as a pillow; the scent helping him to dream happily of her face, her smile, and her figure. It was a fantasy, a glimpse of hopefulness intertwined with the sight of the ugliness of a day's gunfire and shelling, and the horror of dead soldiers laid out on a battlefield, men who would never again know the enticing perfume of their wife or sweetheart.

As the aroma of the paper faded, a new letter would find Nick in the field and he would secure the older letter in a saddlebag, and the bundle grew. Elizabeth had written to Nick every week. He was thankful to know that he hadn't been forgotten, no matter where the army had chosen to relocate the regiment.

"I lived for those letters," he admitted aloud. He had dearly loved Elizabeth for writing; and his thoughts now came to rest only on the woman nestled within the bend of his arm.

"Your letters were few and far between," Elizabeth serenely chided, and her hand reached up to touch Nick's stubbly cheek.

"I had no writing paper," he answered, nestling into her palm. "We only had what we could carry. I didn't even get a foot locker until I made Lieutenant."

"You sent a wire once. A currier brought it out to the ranch and had me sign for it; I could barely hold the pencil, and I had to run into the house and make my mother open the seal, my hands shook so much. She was very good, only reading the first line '_Dear Elizabeth, I am safe and on leave', _before folding it and handing it back_._

I ran as fast as I could to your house to tell your parents the news, and I carried that telegram everywhere, worrying it between my fingers in the weeks when no one had heard a word from you or the location of the regiment. My father would read the newspaper and tell us of the campaigns, but I always knew when he had come across bad news of your regiment. He would fold the newspaper, tuck it in his coat pocket, and take it out of the house. I know he burned them in the forge in the smithy."

"Connell never could stand to see you unhappy," Nick chuckled.

"No," Elizabeth grinned. "The man was strong as a henge stone, until my mother or I sniffled."

"Every so often I'd get a letter from my father, mostly telling me to write to mother; and to you. I'm glad I sent the telegram."

"I carried that telegram with me until the words were barely legible. '_Remember me; Nick'._"

Nick felt peculiar, yet not a terrible feeling at all for the recollection of such forlorn memories. His gut was painfully hollow as if hungry, but it wasn't rumbling; and the palms of his hands prickled so that he was tempted to rub them together. As a man, he was wholly in tune with the cause of such sensations.

"Did you know that there is hardly ever a thunderstorm in San Francisco? I have not heard one in over two years," Elizabeth altered the conversation.

"No," Nick's voice cracked, "I didn't know."

"Nick?"

"What," he whispered, aching to kiss Elizabeth.

"The rain has stopped."

Nick's wits had abruptly been relieved of all reason; his senses wretched at being brought up short. Elizabeth got up from the floor and touched Nick's shirt and undershirt hanging on the banister of the staircase.

"It'll have to do until you're home. The vest is going to take more time to dry in front of a good fire."

"I'll get Coco, and you lock the door."

Nick stood, dressed hastily in the chilly clothing, and handed the keys to Elizabeth. She did as she was told, and waited on the plank porch. Nick was riding behind his saddle on Coco when he emerged from the barn, and he reined the horse over to where Elizabeth stood.

"Climb on," he instructed, and giving Elizabeth no alternative than to obey, took her arm and easily hoisted her petite body up into the saddle. Her left hand held tight the saddle horn, her right clutched the arm that Nick had enclosed around her, the palm of his hand steadily positioned against Elizabeth's midsection for balance.

"Easy now," he cued the animal while chuckling to himself at Elizabeth's distress of being on a horse; and the pair headed back to the Barkley Ranch.

There was a hint of awkwardness when Nick slid off the back of the horse, then lowered Elizabeth to the ground. The two took a moment to look prudently at one another for having been alone together; though the looks from the family, particularly Victoria and Jarrod as the pair walked through the door were more disconcerting to Elizabeth and Nick than to anyone else.

"I set the wellington in the oven about an hour ago, Miss Elizabeth," Silas dutifully reported.

"Very good," Elizabeth blushed, still wearing Nick's overcoat; she slipped it off to hand to Silas, and she made haste toward the staircase. "I'll go and clean up now."

"The kettle's boiling for Mr. Nick, but there is enough water for you too. Would you like me to run you a bath, Miss?"

Elizabeth was ever so grateful to Silas for the offer. "I would. Thank you," she replied, all the while her muddied feet tripping hurriedly up the stairs.

Jarrod stepped toward Nick, reaching out a hand and tugging on the cloth of Nick's damp and dirty shirt. "Better get that off," he smirked at his brother's discomfort, then whispered on the sly, "by the way, you skipped a button."

Nick colored, not so much from shame, but for lacking the gift of a clever reply. He turned on the heels of his boots and strode up the stairs for his room.

* * *

><p>Nick lingered in his room after having bathed and changed his clothes for supper. Silas had lit a fire in the hearth and Nick took up a chair, his legs sprawled out on the wool carpet, and clean, polished black boots crossed before him; so occupied in his thoughts that he was barely conscious of the crackling logs of the fire.<p>

The room was large and furnished stylishly for a man's taste; it was the master bedchamber of the house. The walls were paneled in finely finished mahogany, with shuttered bookcases to the left of an oversized bed and grand wooden headboard, a large draped window to the right, and another door leading to a private dressing chamber. A smaller sitting parlor, with a desk and two windows made up the entry, the two spaces separated by a magnificent mahogany arch; with weighty jacquard drapery hung at either end to keep out a draft and secure further privacy for the occupants, should it be necessary.

It had been the chamber Tom and Victoria had shared in marriage. A room large enough to accommodate not only the pair, but the infants Victoria had borne and nursed, until the children were old enough to occupy their own rooms. Victoria had given the room to Nick soon after Tom's death. Nick, at well over six feet tall, had outgrown his smaller room and bed. Victoria thought it only right that he should have the room, and that she should take the smaller chamber.

Nick was heir to the ranch and the lands, as his mother had once said, by his own choice and by his rule. Jarrod had no designs on the house, knowing he would always split his time between Stockton and San Francisco. He hoped to one day build a comfortable house near the lake on the far side of the ranch lands, and would eventually purchase a house in the city. Eugene's interest was in medicine, particularly advances in animal husbandry and veterinary science. He knew he was not destined to be a rancher or a ranch heir. Audra was one day to be the mistress of a husband's home, wherever that was to be was yet undetermined. She didn't seem to have much interest in the eligible men of Stockton, other than as partners to fill her dance card. It was intended that if Heath wished it, he would be given land for a house when the time came for him to settle down.

The grand white ranch house was in Nick's charge. When fortune had allowed, Tom had built the house in the classical revival style to please his wife. It's size and grace was an oddity for the valley and for California, not a typical ranch house by any means, which made it somewhat of a landmark and one of the first things to be notice by newcomers.

Nick cared for most every detail, seeing to any repairs and upkeep, but he let his mother decide when to redecorate the furnishings and trappings. It was Nick's practice to walk through the house before retiring when everyone else in the family had gone to bed for the night; as it had been Tom's. Each night, Nick bolted the doors and bid Silas goodnight as they both extinguished the lights, Nick on the upstairs floors, Silas on the downstairs floors.

On the bookshelf in Nick's bedchamber was a box the height of a standard book, but the width of five. Nick got up from the chair, walked to the shelf and took the box in his hands. He placed it on the highboy and opened it; stopping to inspect the medals and badges that had once been pinned on his dress uniform and a tintype image of him taken in the field when he made lieutenant; and then he leafed through some old letters that were in the box as well. Some were rather tattered, and a couple wrinkled and bent from once having been read in the rain, but nonetheless, every letter that Elizabeth had ever written to Nick had been placed within that box. He pulled one out to read, and sat back down on the chair.

_October 31st, 1864_

_Dearest Nicholas,_

_Our neighbor Nevada is no longer a territory but today has become a State! The Stockton Eagle reports that President Lincoln has signed the charter, and it is said that the Union is in need of the State for important votes, not to mention its silver and gold. Your father believes it a good thing, for now California lands will not be isolated in the west._

_I only wish there was more news to tell you of home. I cannot know how much pleasure it affords you to receive these letters, but at times I think I write them for my own comfort as well. You are in my thoughts, and so therefore you can expect to receive the letters as long as you remain away from home. _

_The flowers on Poppy Hill are gone for the year; it is not the same place without you. You've been away for such a long time. Will I recognize you when you come home? I suspect when you return our childhood days will be gone, sad to say, but to me they will be remembered as days of felicity. _

_How happy the thought that years may increase the affection and esteem we have for one another. May it ever be so, and may I ever be a person worthy of your warmest affections. _

_Is mise le grá, mo laddie saighdiúir, __Elizabeth _

Each letter Elizabeth had written to Nick contained the same closing. He hadn't known what it meant, nor could he pronounce it, and he had never had the nerve to ask Jock MacLean, his commanding officer, if he was able to read the words; but Nick came to believe the phrase a cipher of hope.

A rap on the chamber door caused Nick to jump to his feet, and before acknowledging the caller, he put the letter back in the box and put the box in its place on the shelf.

"Come in," he breathed out, steadying his wits.

Heath opened the door and peered inside the room. "You ready for supper?"

"Yeah," Nick replied, remembering what Elizabeth had prepared.

"I just gotta know what a wellington is; the smell of it cooking is making my stomach growl and my mouth water."

Nick sat once more in the chair and motioned to Heath to take the other. "Did you ever have a sweetheart, Heath?" he asked, out of the blue, "I mean, that last year when you enlisted. Someone who wrote to you."

"I can't say that I did. I would have liked to have had a sweetheart, but while mustered I managed to meet a few girls here and there who gave me a kiss or two and some comfort."

Nick laughed at his brother's frankness.

"You, Nick?"

"A sweetheart, I believe," Nick admitted quite shyly for his typical character. "At least most folks thought so, but now that I look back on it, I was too young and stupid to see it plainly for myself. I should have come right out and asked the girl."

"Maybe it's not too late, Nick."

"Maybe; do you know anyone who reads Scottish, I mean Gaelic?"

"Doesn't Elizabeth?"

"Best it's someone other than, Elizabeth."

Heath pondered a moment before saying, "Can't say that I do."

* * *

><p>Elizabeth had been thankful for the warm bath; the water scented with the lavender oil she had brought. She washed her hair and fingered through the tresses a little oil before washing it again. The oil made her hair soft and shiny, and made the tangles manageable. Silas had lit a fire in the hearth of the guestroom, and Elizabeth sat near the blaze, running her fingers through her damp hair to dry it enough for braiding. She was nimble at braiding her hair even without being in front of a vanity mirror, and when she came to the end of the one long braid, she fastened the bottom with a green and blue plaid ribbon.<p>

Elizabeth put on a blue frock adorned with a peplum bustle, and blue satin slippers. Her cheeks were pink from her earlier walk and the chilly ride back, and she gazed at her complexion, having gone to the mirror; her fingers playing with the end of her braid while she thought on the day. She wished she had spent more time with Nick; listening to him talk of the past; his deep voice lulling her mind into fanciful thoughts of what might have come to pass between them, had the rain not stopped.

Audra's voice from outside the bedchamber called to her friend, until Elizabeth opened the door.

"What do you think?" Audra pressed for Elizabeth's opinion.

"The gown is lovely, and you are very beautiful in it," Elizabeth smiled.

"Now all I need is an occasion to wear it! Come on, Lizzie, we'll be late for supper."

The beef wellington was hardly a disappointment to Heath or anyone else that night, and Silas had done Elizabeth proud and cooked it just long enough to keep the meat pink and tender on the inside. The dough was perfectly crisp and golden brown, and it looked beautiful on the plate when sliced.

Victoria managed to carry the conversation at the table. "I thought tomorrow, girls, we would visit Jamie Drumm and his wife. Their baby girl was born just last week."

"Say, Nick," Heath got his brother's attention while the others discussed a new baby born in the valley. "_Jamie Drumm_."

Nick grinned at Heath's subtle hint. Of course; Jamie Drumm would know how to read the words in Gaelic.

"I can drive you," Nick offered the ladies.

"We'll be gone most the day, Nick, and I have to go to Stockton first. We can go, just us three women," his mother squelched the plan.

"Besides, Nick, I need you to come by the office late afternoon to sign those mining leases," Jarrod instructed.

"We can fix a spice cake first thing in the morning to take to the parents," Elizabeth delighted. "Would you like to help me, Audra?"

Audra was elated at being asked. "You will show me how, won't you?"

"All these accomplished women, boys," Jarrod declared with a wink. "They can cook, bake, sew, play the piano, visit babies, and drive themselves to town. One day they'll get the right to vote, and then there will be no stopping them."

"We own property, some of us hold jobs, and we manage ranches, farms, homes and families," Victoria said with authority. "I think we deserve the right to cast a vote."

"Well," Nick responded, "With all this liberation catching on like wildfire, I think it time Elizabeth learn to drive a buggy. That's the kind of _independence_ which will keep her out of the rain."

"Nick, honey," Victoria good-humoredly chided her son.

"Victoria," Elizabeth interrupted, "he's right; if you are willing to teach me, Nick, then I will be happy to learn."

Eugene was a bit offended that Nick should chide Elizabeth, and perhaps force her to do something she didn't wish to do. "Why not teach her to shoot a gun, too?" he grumbled sarcastically.

"That's not a bad idea," Nick imitated his little brother's scorn.

Elizabeth colored at the notion. "Boys, one thing at a time, please. I've learned a good many things to date, but buggy driving and gun slinging may take a while."

Victoria laughed at the thought; pleased by Elizabeth's outspokenness in matching wits with Nick all the while demonstrating a duty to gratify the young man's wishes by a woman's grace. Victoria had never known another to manage Nick in so effortless a manner. Victoria and Tom had always thought their son and Connell's daughter would make a strong couple in a marriage; a union of disposition between an indomitable young man who possessed a tender heart and a young woman who had a talent for cultivating sense in others with her wit and serenity.

"Well, Gene and I think you're very accomplish," Heath admitted.

Gene was ready to sing Elizabeth's praises. "More than you know, Heath. Elizabeth speaks three languages, she sings, plays the piano and the harp, and is quite a botanist. She's been assisting Professor Hans Behr, categorizing plant species surrounding the bay."

Jarrod was enthralled, "Professor Behr, really?"

"Yes, though I am no botanist," Elizabeth confirmed. "The landscape outside the city is a welcome distraction from cobblestones, gutters and mechanical trolleys."

"I'd say you truly _are_ an accomplished woman, Lizzie," Jarrod beamed.

"Hardly," she replied as she glanced at Nick, "It's just that I missed sitting among the wildflowers on Poppy Hill, and so when I met the man at a supper party, I volunteered."

Nick asked, "How old is this man?"

Elizabeth shrugged, "Nearly seventy, I believe."

"Hmm," Nick feigned actual interest in the answer.

"Women now are much different than in my mother's day," Heath affirmed.

Elizabeth turned toward Heath to confess her admiration for his mother, while shielding Victoria's feelings; for Heath had been born from a brief liaison between Tom Barkley and a woman named Leah Thompson twenty-five years ago, when Tom had been staying in the small mining town of Strawberry.

"Your mother raised a boy to be a fine man," Elizabeth declared. "I'm convinced that's not easy to accomplish."

Nick sat comfortably back in his chair, dropping his napkin onto the table. He couldn't take his eyes from Elizabeth, content to watch as she quietly finished her supper. He had always thought her a beautiful girl; refined in manners yet unpretentious in her ability to please; and he had always been aware of her knowledge and accomplishments. Most of all Elizabeth was loving; concerned for the feelings of others, not simply wishing to gratify her own needs, as had been Hester's failing, and nearly every other woman he had ever known. In Nick's eyes, if Elizabeth possessed a flaw at all, it could be said it was in her failure to see her own worth.

While Nick was occupied, Victoria studied her second son. He didn't often remain still or quiet for any length of time, or outwardly display a fixation for another person, in the manner that his expressions now betrayed.

"How's the new crop in the west field, Nick?" Jarrod changed the direction of conversation. "Are there any more brown spots on the spring barley?"

"A few; whatever it is, it's spreading, slowly."

"What does it look like?" Elizabeth inquired.

Nick described the brownish-black marks as streaks on the tender shafts of the barley near a forming head, and said that it was localized in a small area of the field, as of that morning.

"It seems like some sort of blight."

He shrugged somewhat, "The valley's not prone to blight."

"You said yourself, this has been an uncommonly rainy year. Perhaps it came in the seed, and is emergent and spreading because of the odd spring rains this season. Blight is often spread by rain, driven by strong winds. If that is the case it should be managed by pouring boiling water onto the affected plants to kill the disease, and the plants should be removed, and soon, before there is any further spread. It would be possible to fashion some caldrons of water onto fire pits by the field, and the boiling water administered by hand, in buckets."

Eugene and Audra looked at Nick; both jubilant on hearing Elizabeth's solution to the problem.

"Mother," Nick sighed in wonder. "Drive by the east field on your way to Stockton tomorrow so Elizabeth can have a look. I'll ride along with you. Will you do me the favor, Lizzie?"

Elizabeth smiled, hoping her assistance would be of use. "Of course I will."

* * *

><p>It was early dawn when Elizabeth got Audra out of bed to make the spice cake for Jamie Drumm's family. Audra was too drowsy to be of much help, and escaped from the kitchen to slip back into bed as Nick walked in to have a closer look at what made the house smell so divine.<p>

Elizabeth had pulled two large cakes from the oven and set them out to cool. Nick stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders as they both surveyed her handiwork.

"Smells like Christmas morning," Nick breathed in the aroma, his mood lively after a good night's sleep. "Are you going to take both of those with you? I don't think that new baby will eat a crumb of that cake."

Elizabeth laughed; she had a contagious low sort of chortle for her normal voice that made her shoulders spring up and down and the locks of her hair bounce, particularly when she found humor in someone's conversation. Nick had often made her laugh, sometimes when he hadn't tried; and her laughter was a remedy to improve even his demeanor.

"Come on," Nick snorted. "Just let me taste a piece, just a sample."

"It's for the baby's parents," she swatted his hand away from the cake; still laughing. "Everyone brings gifts for a new baby; never for the parents."

"So you have to bring a baby into the world to get a piece of cake? I just want a small piece; crumbs. Silas, don't you think a hardworking rancher deserves a few crumbs?"

"I do, Mr. Nick," Silas laughed; busy brewing coffee and warming ham on the wood stove at the other end of the kitchen.

Elizabeth turned around and smiled favorably up at Nick. "The other cake you may have with your breakfast."

"I'll get the coffee cups and we'll eat that cake right here and now." Before Nick spun around, he kissed Elizabeth hastily on the cheek, and then made for the dining room to fetch the cups. "Yes, indeed," he called out, "it's turning into a fine morning."

Half an hour hence, Nick bounded out of the kitchen for the front door of the house, affixing his work gloves onto his hands as he walked; meeting his mother by the bottom of the grand staircase.

"Aren't you having breakfast this morning, Nicholas?"

"I've had ham and eggs, two cups of coffee, and just about half of an entire spice cake," he quickly kissed his mother on the cheek as he had kissed Elizabeth, "oh, and potatoes. I forgot about the potatoes. I couldn't eat another bite. I'll be in the barn. Let me know when you're ready to leave for town, huh?"

Elizabeth bent down and plucked a tainted barley plant up by the roots. Nick stood over her, along with five field hands awaiting a decision as to how they were to spend their work day.

"It certainly looks like blight, Nick. Luckily it hasn't spread to very many plants. I would suggest you boil the water as soon as possible, dowse the infected plants, and then pull them out and dispose of them in a tidy pile away from any other crops. Have the men try not to shake the plants as they pull."

Nick turned to the field wrangler. "Do as the lady says," he made his instruction clear. He lifted Elizabeth back into the surrey which Victoria had chosen as the vehicle to drive the ladies to town, and his broad, dimpled smile showed his appreciation.

"Let me know how it all comes out," Elizabeth said. "If it rains again this afternoon, we'll have to take another look tomorrow and see if the spread has stopped."

"Oh, it'll rain again. I can feel it in the air. Mother, you be sure to head home about two o'clock, before the roads are muddy. I don't want to have to come looking for the three of you."

Victoria nodded, and the surrey and team of two black geldings made its way down the ranch road toward Stockton. The ladies chatted and gossiped, and Victoria told Elizabeth about Jamie Drumm. He had come to the valley a little more than two years ago, an unmarried man from near Edinburgh. With what money he had, he managed to purchase forty acres of good bottomland, and was a vegetable and fruit farmer supplying the restaurants in Stockton.

He had met a young woman through friends in Sacramento, and the two had been a good match. Her situation was similar to Elizabeth for she had been born in the Highlands, the daughter of immigrant parents. The couple had a small wedding before leaving her kin and returning to Jamie's farm. It was only two months after their wedding that Morna Drumm told her husband she was with child, and she had safely delivered a daughter last Monday.

The ladies shopped at the mercantile in Stockton for nearly an hour, and Victoria visited the seamstress, having taken a couple of gowns into the shop the week before for mending and alteration. Elizabeth was introduced to a few of the townspeople and merchants that she had not known, and was greeted warmly by those she had.

While Victoria paid the seamstress Mrs. Williamson for the alterations, Audra and Elizabeth admired some of the dresses, which had already been sewn; some for everyday wear and some for special occasions. Elizabeth was particularly taken with a rose-colored faille frock with shortened sleeves for summer, not too plain, yet not excessively adorned, and she thought it perhaps a good gesture to give patronage to the Stockton merchants.

"Is this pretty frock spoken for?"

"Why, no Miss, I only finished it this morning," it was clear the seamstress was flattered by Elizabeth's attention.

"Can you fit it for me by tomorrow?"

"I can have it ready by this afternoon!"

Elizabeth thanked the woman. "You have always made such beautiful things, Mrs. Williamson."

"Oh my dear, I'm honored by your notice. With all the beautiful dresses they have in San Francisco, I can hardly believe that you would come to like my handiwork."

"You can believe it, ma'am," Elizabeth smiled, and paid the woman for the garment, with a generous tip for the alterations once the seamstress had taken Elizabeth's proper measurements.

As a woman who set a standard for decorum, Victoria was pleased by Elizabeth's acknowledgement of a country merchant; but Elizabeth had always been a generous girl, and that good trait had evidently been carried over into womanhood. For years the economy of Stockton had been chiefly supported by the Barkley Ranch and the other large ranchers in the area, including Elizabeth's family; if the Barkley's prospered, Stockton prospered.

"Please have the dress delivered to my son Jarrod's office," Victoria requested. "He can bring it out to the ranch tonight."

The ladies made a brief call to Doctor Thomas Merar's house, and the good man and his wife Iva were elated to see Elizabeth once again. On the street on their way to the Stockton Club for luncheon they met with Sheriff Fred Madden. He was happy to see Elizabeth, and told her how much her friends had missed her, and her family.

Jarrod joined the party for luncheon, having procured a table for them all, since it was the busy hour. A fine young gentleman unexpectedly approached the table before they had been served their meal.

"Good day, Miss MacCanish," he tipped his chin in a greeting.

Elizabeth was dumbfounded. "Mr. Haight!" she expressed her wonder at his being in Stockton. Elizabeth, remembering her manners, presented her friends to young Harry Haight.

"Allow me to introduce my father, Mr. Henry Haight. Father, this is Miss Elizabeth MacCanish."

"A great pleasure," the elder man greeted them all with a polite bow to the ladies, and an extended hand to a standing Jarrod. Mr. Henry Haight was a smart looking fellow, handsomely dressed, with graying, combed hair, and a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. His suit was of the finest material, and he wore a gentleman's ascot instead of a western bow tie.

"We are in Stockton on business," Harry Haight explained. "In fact, my father was hoping to make your acquaintance Miss MacCanish, since I knew you were in the valley."

"Then our meeting was well timed," Elizabeth replied, feeling a touch suspicious.

"My son has told me much of you, and of your connection, Miss MacCanish. It is a delight to finally meet you, my dear."

Elizabeth blushed, for she hadn't realized that Harry Haight knew a great deal about her, let alone that she and the boy had formed any sort of formal association.

"Did you enjoy Mr. Gough's party last Saturday?" Elizabeth tried to find a benign subject of conversation.

Indeed, Harry Haight was a steadfast young gent, and he answered with a swagger, "It was pleasant enough, though it was nothing in your absence. I hope one day soon there will be another occasion to which I may escort you, Elizabeth."

"We won't keep you from your luncheon," Mr. Haight senior gave order to his son. Harry nodded to the party, and to Elizabeth he bowed and lingered a besotted smile; and the gentlemen quit the dining room for the saloon.

Audra was beside herself with curiosity. "You're acquainted with that handsome young man, Lizzie? He's nothing like any man in Stockton."

No, he was not like any particular man in Stockton, Elizabeth thought. "We are barely acquainted," Elizabeth blushed, and bowed her head to conceal her changing humor.

"Barely? His father mentioned your connection; and he called you by name!"

Though Elizabeth meant nothing hurtful, her frustration with Audra's pointed questions gave her voice a tone of reproach, "A connection is a far cry from a commitment."

"Audra," Jarrod was first to warn his sister of any further interference. It was obvious that Elizabeth was in no humor to discuss the meeting in greater detail. "I have to get back to the office within the hour, so let's just eat our lunch."

Audra was advised again by her mother's whisper not to pry into Elizabeth's concerns of young Mr. Haight, as Jarrod escorted Elizabeth to the surrey. Audra was an impulsive girl and at eighteen still young enough to be somewhat naive when it came to young men, but she knew when to obey her mother, and her eldest brother on the occasion that he should give reprimand. With Nick, Audra was at liberty to be somewhat imprudent, for her brother by and large teased her more than scolded. There had been an occasion or two when she had irritated Nick enough for him to caution her in such a way that caused her hurt and made her angry, even though she usually knew she had been in the wrong.

Nick had the disposition of his father; willing to let a few things slide until he was convinced that trouble was certain if he did not take some sort of action. When it came to reining in Audra, Nick always acted with a fair amount of reluctance, and more than not regretted losing his temper once he had done so. Audra could only recall one instance when she had made Nick furious by a clandestine meeting after dark with a boy that he'd been tempted to strike his sister when she defiantly declared she was old enough to make her own decisions and that it was none of Nick's business.

With Tom gone, Jarrod and Nick were responsible for the family's safekeeping; and Victoria had objected to the boy, and to Audra seeing him alone. Nick had stopped just short of swatting her like a father would punish a spoiled child when she was found outside the house at midnight, instead opting to warn her so loudly with his baritone voice that the walls rattled. Somehow, he had thought, while afterward stewing about the incident, if Audra had been his own daughter and he had objected to the boy, he would have opted for a more persuadable whack.

With Gene, and now with Heath, Nick was different. He rarely apologized for reprimanding either of them if he thought it was just; and as Jarrod was also quick to do, when he and Nick disagreed. It was not unheard of for Nick and Jarrod to throw a punch at one another when frustration reared its head, although they had never done so in front of their parents, yet such an occurrence had generally been reported to either Victoria or Tom by a younger sibling eager to squeal.

Before Elizabeth was seated in the surrey she was overtaken on the boardwalk by Flora Benson. Flora was the daughter of an old friend of Connell MacCanish, although Flora was nearer to Audra's age than to Elizabeth. Flora fancied herself a Stockton socialite, and though engaging in her manners toward most people she was apt to be a thorn in Audra's side.

Flora could not be described as a natural beauty. She was short, a bit on the plump side and her complexion a tad ruddy for such a young woman of station; and she was more than willing to point out a Barkley scandal to the other gossiping girls in town, no doubt in the hopes of making Audra, a more natural beauty, seem less desirable. Audra had often told Elizabeth of the things Flora Benson had said, and Audra had thought Flora's behavior worse now that Heath had come to the valley, and he had shown no noticeable inclination for Flora's copious flirting.

"You must come to the Spring Cotillion this Saturday night, Elizabeth!"

Audra chimed in, not wanting to feel left out, "Oh, is that the date?"

"Yes, it has just been fixed," Flora replied to Audra, glibly, "although somewhat last minute. I only hope Mrs. Williamson can finish my new ball gown in time."

"I'm sure Audra will be at the Cotillion," Elizabeth at times had a touch of the devil in her, "Eugene and Heath, too. There will be lots of lovely young ladies for the men to dance with, don't you agree Audra?"

"Definitely," Audra was impish enough to play along.

Flora's enthusiasm soured somewhat; as it was foreseen that she was confident Heath would be her escort that night, and she wanted his attentions all to herself.

Victoria was amused during the carriage ride to the Drumm farm, as Elizabeth and Audra laughed for teasing poor Flora. Victoria might have pointed out their delight as unkind and unladylike, if she hadn't known so well how Flora Benson often mistreated Audra.

Audra shuttered, "It makes me uneasy to even meet that girl on the street. You never know what she'll say, but you always know it won't be much of a compliment."

"I know," Elizabeth admitted, thinking of Hester Convers in kind. "There is at least one woman in every circle to sour the best occasion."

Morna Drumm was outside the house waiting on the Barkley ladies when the surrey pulled onto the drive. She had been fortunate to have had an easier labor than most first time mothers, and she insisted on leaving her bed a few days after the delivery. She was in intrigue to meet Elizabeth MacCanish, someone in the neighborhood who might be thought of as a sort of kin. Elizabeth was introduced to Jamie Drumm, and he in turn presented his wife.

"Na 'm, Muirne," Elizabeth took the young mother by the hands and spoke her Gaelic name in a greeting.

The young woman's smile was one of gratitude, "I am so happy to meet you, dear Ealasaid." The two young women embraced as if they had been family.

Audra brought the spice cake and several wrapped gifts for the baby into the house, and Morna had laid out cream tea and dried fruit. The ladies sat in the parlor, waiting for Jamie to bring the baby to her mother. Elizabeth had to admire the golden raisins on a plate beside dried pears and apricots.

"Those are beautiful, and delicious. They would have made a good addition to the spice cake."

Morna arose from her chair and returned from the kitchen with a quart of the raisins, handing them to Elizabeth. "My husband grows and dries them," she said. "They are a gift for you."

Elizabeth thanked her most generously, but set the jar down on the table when Jamie Drumm entered the room carrying his infant daughter in his arms. Victoria and Audra admired the baby and her mother was delighted by the kind attention. Jamie looked to his wife and she nodded and smiled toward Elizabeth.

"Would ye like tae hold our daughter, Mairi?" he asked.

Elizabeth eagerly nodded, and she sat securely on the divan and Jamie placed the sleeping babe in her arms. "She's beautiful," Elizabeth beamed with wonder. "Such a tiny gift from God."

"You look well with a baby, Ealasaid," Morna commented. "Perhaps one day Mairi and I may visit you and your newborn baby?"

Elizabeth nearly wept, saying, "That will be the joy of my life."

In the hour the ladies spent with the Drumm family it was fixed that the couple and their new baby should come to the ranch for Sunday supper, if Morna was feeling able. It was Elizabeth who suggested the time was near to make their way home. She was not keen to have Nick lecture her again for being caught in the rain.

* * *

><p>Nick strode into Jarrod's office on schedule. He had spent the morning with the field crew tending the barley as Elizabeth had instructed, and he was sweaty, his clothes dirty, and his gloves and boots caked with dried mud. He pulled the leather gloves off to sign the mining leases Jarrod had prepared and intended to file with the county clerk before heading home. Nick was tired, irritable, and wanted nothing more than to go home, clean up, eat a good supper, and sit beside Elizabeth for the remainder of the evening.<p>

"Having a day, Nick?" Jarrod chuckled.

"No more than usual," Nick groused. "Let's get on with it."

Jarrod handed him the pen, and pointed to the lines ready for his signature. Jarrod's secretary tapped on the office door and handed Jarrod a package. "This is for Miss MacCanish from the dressmaker," she told him, "and there is a gentleman waiting to see you in the lobby."

"My brother and I are finished with our business. Show the gentleman in."

Before Nick left, the man was shown into Jarrod's office and Nick noticed the curiosity on Jarrod's face on recognizing the visitor.

"Mr. Barkley."

"Well," Jarrod greeted the man, "Mr. Henry Haight of San Francisco; my brother, Nicholas Barkley."

Nick extended a hand to the gentleman, although the tidy and smartly dressed man was reluctant to oblige.

"I'll see you at the ranch, Jarrod," Nick spoke as he was about to leave.

"We were just on our way out, Mr. Haight, but if your business is brief, my brother and I can spare a few minutes."

Nick was intrigued by Jarrod's subtle insinuation for him to remain. "Nick, I was introduced to Mr. Haight at luncheon with mother, Audra and Elizabeth earlier today."

Henry Haight smiled. "Yes," he said. "My son tells me that you may be the man to see to inquire about the sale of the ranch land, which Miss MacCanish has inherited."

Nick blanched, and his posture stiffened, triggering Jarrod's response. "Well, as of today I am not aware that Miss MacCanish is at all interested in selling her property," he said swiftly.

"My son, by his acquaintance with the young lady, has indicated differently."

"I see," Jarrod humored the man. "Well, until Miss MacCanish informs me otherwise, I'm in no position to negotiate on her behalf."

"Very well, Mr. Barkley; I'm sorry we cannot do business, yet."

"Miss MacCanish is a family friend," Nick interrupted. "Just how acquainted _is_ your son with the lady?"

"From what I gather, Mr. Barkley, they have met on a few occasions and he is quite taken with the girl. Now that I have made her acquaintance, I can't say that I blame him for believing she would be a suitable match and a welcome addition to our family. Albeit they have only known one another for a short time, my son believes that perhaps Miss MacCanish might favor a courtship and a proposal, particularly if he were to acquire her ranch as a token of good faith toward a future marriage."

Nick respired in incredulity, "Future marriage?"

"Yes, that is the direction an acquaintance of this sort generally takes," Mr. Haight's flippant response drew an ample grimace from Nick. "Of course, there is no such engagement as yet. I imagine, as a family friend of Miss MacCanish, you would be protective of her present condition, having lost her father."

"You imagine right; and as for the land, I can only think your son knows very little about ranching," Nick's body was rife with adrenaline, yet as a man, he tried not to show any anxiety for having learned of Elizabeth's suitor.

"Just what does your son do for a living?" Jarrod was as protective of Elizabeth, as was Nick.

"He has no need to soil his hands at present," Henry Haight was a cool and collected man, his manner shrewd, which made him seem by and large condescending.

Nick looked at his hands, wiped a palm on his shirt and frowned at Jarrod.

"Surely a man needs an occupation," Jarrod attempted to quell Nick's temper with the supposition that Elizabeth would think such a youth inadequate as a suitor. Nick shrugged curtly, being highly doubtful himself of the boy's ability to tackle a pen of a dozen sheep, let alone a full scale cattle venture. "If Miss MacCanish tells me she wants to sell, I will send you a wire. Leave your particulars with my secretary. Good day, Mr. Haight."

Nick accompanied Jarrod to the clerk's office, and the brothers made for home together. Nick barely said two words on the ride, his ill temper simmering with the news that Elizabeth perhaps had a beau. Before the Barkley brothers entered the house, Nick stopped cold, turned and poked a finger in Jarrod's chest.

"So he thinks Lizzie is _suitable_! Ha! That boy is no doubt a perfumed fop; and useless to boot!"

"Pretty much," Jarrod frowned.

"So this is what you were trying to tell me, Jarrod, when Elizabeth arrived; that this fool may as well buy her affection with his father's money?"

"I truly had no knowledge of this young man or his father, Nick."

"Have you met this, this dandy?"

"I met him earlier today. He approached Elizabeth wanting to introduce her to his father. He's definitely a society brat, Nick; you know the type, affluent and spoiled. I wouldn't believe he's Elizabeth's sort of man."

"Just what is Elizabeth's sort of man?" Nick revealed his angst by removing his hat and tousling his hair. "I thought I knew her, Jarrod; just maybe I don't know what she's about anymore."

"Let's go in the house and have a good supper, Nick, and calm down."

Nick looked down at his mud-caked clothes. As a rule, he would clean the sweat and dirt from his face, hair and arms in the water trough by the barn before going into the house, but there was nothing he could do about his muddied clothing out in the open.

"You go in; I'm going around back and have Silas fill up the tub on the service porch. I'm too grubby to traipse through the house looking like I've been wallowing with the pigs in a sty."

The family was already in the living room when Jarrod entered into the house. Audra and Elizabeth were playing the piano and Gene and Heath were occupied in a game of cribbage. Victoria went to greet her son.

"I'm glad you're home Jarrod. We'll be eating soon. Didn't Nick come home with you?"

Jarrod took his mother by the arm, steering her discreetly into the study, closing the door behind them. "He's bathing on the service porch; he thinks his clothes are too muddy to come through the front door."

"Since when has he ever thought that?" Victoria doubted.

"Since he heard of Elizabeth and that city boy, Harry Haight."

"Oh, Jarrod," Victoria bemoaned her alarm; concerned as her eldest son assumed she would be knowing that Nick and young Mr. Haight were nothing alike in manners and mien, and suspecting, as did Jarrod, just how Nick felt about Elizabeth. "How did Nick meet that young man?"

"He didn't," Jarrod sighed, "his father came to see me at the office when Nick was in signing those claim leases. Mr. Haight said Elizabeth had mentioned selling the ranch to Harry, and that he was interested in buying."

"So that is what they are doing in Stockton."

"Apparently young Mr. Haight is looking to Elizabeth as a prospective bride, and the elder gentleman wants to purchase the land as an incentive for Elizabeth to accept."

"He said all this; and in front of Nick?"

Jarrod folded his arms across his chest, nodded and grimaced, "Do you think Elizabeth knows anything about this plan?"

"I don't know, Jarrod. She hasn't said anything to me, though she says she's not engaged to be married. She was telling me of some lace that Rose had brought from Scotland and kept for Elizabeth's wedding trousseau, and so I asked her if she was engaged, which she wholeheartedly denied."

"Well, I told Mr. Haight that Elizabeth hasn't decided to sell. Perhaps now those two will go back to San Francisco."

"Do you really believe that, Jarrod?"

"No mother, I don't believe that they'll leave yet; it was more wishful thinking than certainty."

As Jarrod and Victoria rejoined the rest of the family, Silas was stealing up the staircase to fetch some clean clothes and boots for Nick. Elizabeth spied him and she got up from the piano to ask of Silas, "Would you like me to go and check on the ham for supper?"

"No Miss!" Silas was distressed at the notion of Miss Elizabeth finding Mr. Nick in the altogether. "I've got everything prepared for tonight. You just go on playing that pretty piano music. I really like listening to you and Miss Audra play while I work."

"All right, Silas," Elizabeth's words comforted the good fellow. "Will Nick be home for supper?"

"Oh yes, Miss. Mr. Nick will be along any time now," he took in a breath of relief; then hurried about his original task.

"Lizzie," Jarrod ran interference by handing her the package, "This was delivered for you."

While Elizabeth and Audra busily unwrapped and admired the rose-colored frock, Silas managed to return undetected to the service porch with Nick's clothes; and Nick dressed with haste and some assistance from the kindly houseman.

"You'd best be getting into the living room, Mr. Nick. Miss Elizabeth was asking after you."

"She was?"

"Yes, sir, I had to stop her from coming back here to check on the ham while you were still in the tub; and then she asked me if you were coming home for supper."

"Thanks kindly, Silas," Nick's face colored. "I'll go see her right now."

When Nick strode into the living room, Elizabeth stopped playing the piano, and met him by the hearth to admire the cut of his figure. "You look handsome tonight, Mr. Barkley," she told him with a genuine grin of approval. "Did everything work out well in the barley field today?"

"Fine," Nick nodded, "just fine."

"Nick!" Audra advanced on her brother to enlighten him of what the rest of the family had already heard. "The Spring Cotillion is this Saturday night! Heath and Eugene have already said they'll be going, and Jarrod, and of course, Elizabeth!"

Audra whirled about chattering on to her mother and brothers about the event, and Nick turned to Elizabeth to ask, "Who will you go with?"

She cocked her head to the side to ponder; flirtatious in the merry spirit of the occasion, "I could be tempted to go with you; that is if you are of a mind to ask."

"It just so happens I am," Nick's earlier melancholy dwindling as he spoke, and his countenance cheered to a smile by the knowledge that Elizabeth hadn't received an offer from another man, in particular young Mr. Haight.

"I accept your invitation."

"Will you have late supper with me at the Alhambra Club afterward; just the two of us?"

Elizabeth approved of Nick's attention to detail as the Alhambra Club was the finest eatery Stockton had to offer, and with a flirtatious curtsy to match the best ever performed by Miss Hester Convers to inspire the confidence of a man, Elizabeth declared, "It will be my pleasure, sir."

The exchange was overhead by Jarrod, and he glanced at his mother and smiled, realizing by her expression that she had been privy to the engagement as well. Jarrod had done his work well; persuading Nick that Elizabeth was not, by rights of having known Nick most of her life, bound to him alone, unless it was of Nick's doing, and Elizabeth's desire.

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	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth skipped downstairs in the morning wearing her new frock, hoping it would be appropriate for a day out with Nick learning how to drive a buggy. Nick wasn't convinced that Elizabeth need wear a pretty dress, but would rather she was able to move about freely without hindrance of skirts and petticoats.

"Do you have breeches?" he asked Elizabeth as they stood together at the buffet sideboard helping themselves to the breakfast Silas had prepared.

"Breeches?"

"Riding Breeches. Ranch clothes."

"Oh," Elizabeth laughed, "I'm afraid I have never owned a pair of riding breeches."

Nick took a good look at her; having to admire Elizabeth's figure in the new rose-colored frock. He chortled for assuming her wardrobe included a pair of riding breeches, and for the appearance of Elizabeth's diverted grin on contemplating wearing such a garment. Nick's pleasure soon made Elizabeth giggle and they continued in that manner beside one another, their backs to the breakfast table.

"What are you two laughing about so early in the morning?" Victoria wondered aloud.

Nick waited for Elizabeth to take her plate, and he followed her, sitting beside her at the table. "Breeches," he answered, and he chortled once again. "Mother, do you have a pair of riding breeches for Elizabeth to wear?"

Victoria glanced at Elizabeth, indeed seeing the humor. "I will get you a pair after breakfast, dear."

* * *

><p>Ciego harnessed a chestnut-coated mare, a docile old creature of about twenty years, to a small spindle buggy; enough room for Elizabeth and Nick, and a picnic hamper Silas had packed so that they wouldn't have to come back to the house for lunch. The buggy had a fold-down canopy, which Nick preferred to keep down for the sake of visibility. Elizabeth put the abundance of her long hair in a tatted white snood to keep it from flying about and tangling, and Audra loaned her a low-brimmed riding hat to keep the strong valley sun off Elizabeth's face. Altogether with a pair of black riding breeches, and a soft white cotton blouse, Elizabeth looked quite stylish, even if she felt peculiar in a fashion she was unaccustomed to wearing.<p>

The young woman at once had doubts about the whole business of learning to drive a buggy as soon as she stepped out of the house and spied the horse and carriage from a distance. Her angst showed as she absentmindedly wrung her hands together. Common sense and instinct guaranteed that she was not the fearless woman as she would have hoped to be; yet Elizabeth's mind was eager to spend the day learning something new. Victoria came to claim Elizabeth, gently taking her by a hand, and leading her to the corral at the side of the carriage house.

"Well now, don't you look fine," Nick was charmed, finding the breeches and blouse Elizabeth wore even more becoming to her womanly figure than the rose-colored frock.

"I'm glad you think so," she replied, eyeing the horse in suspect, "That's one thing I will have done right this day."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Nick asked, or rather, teased.

"I believe so. You want me to, don't you?"

"Well, sure. I've got the whole day free to spend with you, so it's either this or a little target practice." He patted at the revolver he wore on his right hip.

"Nick," Victoria was exasperated, "you're not helping."

Nick laughed unreservedly, a gallant and robust laugh; and Elizabeth didn't mind his sport at her expense at all, for the laidback manner of his laugh always placated her soul. When Nick was laughing all was right with the world; it was when he was dead serious that you could depend on imminent trouble.

"Come with me," he said, taking Elizabeth by the hand. He led her to the nose of the old horse, reached in a pocket for a sugar cube, and put it in Elizabeth's palm. "Hold it flat in your hand, and give it to her."

Elizabeth did just that, and the horse tickled her palm and nibbled the offering. Nick never did know why Connell had failed to teach his daughter to ride a horse or drive a buggy; or the reason she appeared so mistrustful of animals. Seemingly, everyone had their fears. Nick's fear was the ocean; the land he commanded, but he never possessed a smidgeon of desire to sail the open seas.

Nick was on a mission of forbearance; purposefully showing Elizabeth the tack and equipment associated with the buggy and telling her of the function of each. He was mindful Elizabeth had a thirst for learning, for there had been times she had nearly driven him mad asking him questions and demanding answers to such puzzles as to how to stoke the forge in the smithy, when to raise a sluice gate to irrigate a field, or how the piping of a pump well functioned. Perhaps that was the reason Elizabeth didn't get on with beasts of burden and the like; they simply weren't complicated enough.

Elizabeth's fear soon eased, and she continued to assure herself that she was not alone; that Nick would be by her side at all times, and undeniably he was one of the most capable men of her acquaintance. She truly couldn't see what harm could come to her as long as Nick never left her to her own devices.

The body of the buggy was suspended rather high off the ground, and Elizabeth was simply not that tall a woman. Nick showed her how to use the barrel of the wheel as a rung if she couldn't reach the metal step on the side; but for now he deferred convention and grasped Elizabeth around the waist, lifting her off the ground so that she was able to step onto the floor of the buggy.

"Enjoy yourselves my dears," Victoria bid them both before returning to the house. "Take good care of our girl, Nick."

Nick climbed in, took hold of the wide leather reins and put them properly and securely in Elizabeth's two hands. "This is called a ribbon hold," he said. "When you're driving you can hold the reins, one in each hand, like this, or hold them both in one hand."

Elizabeth keenly studied her hands and the placement of her fingers as she held the reins. She exhaled a sigh and bit the corner of her lip; then handed the reins hastily back to Nick to remove her gloves and throw them on the seat between them. Her tactile nature demanded to feel the grain of the leather and the proper tension to use for a grip.

"How am I to hold them, again?"

"Like this," Nick repeated. "I'm thinking your gonna need both hands."

Nick took off his hat and rubbed his forehead which had begun to ache a little. Without a question, this task would require most of his patience, and a whole lot of encouragement. He removed his own gloves, and took one rein, placing it in Elizabeth's left hand, and the other he positioned in her right.

"Lizzie," he spoke as calmly as he could muster for the sake of harmony, "If you can play the harp as well as you do, you can drive this simple and useful buggy."

"Don't be impertinent, Nick," she was singularly quick to reprimand, "I've never heard of the harp killing anyone."

Nick heaved a cathartic sigh; "You've never heard Audra play the harp."

Nick went on with the lesson; showing Elizabeth how to make the animal walk forward, how to turn the horse; and how to cue her to back up, should that ever be a necessity.

"All set?" he asked, and Elizabeth nodded; her complete and utter attention fixated on the harmless beast Tom had named Ginger. "Now, give her a cue by clicking your tongue, and then tell her, in so many words, to walk on."

Elizabeth did as Nick instructed, and Ginger took four or five plodding steps, until Elizabeth spontaneously tugged back on the reins, and the good horse came to an abrupt halt. Elizabeth quickly looked at Nick; her cheeks turning red in defeat.

Nick tossed his hat back onto his head, and took back the reins. "You know," he tried to smile, "an animal can sense your fear and frustration. Ol' Ginger here has been pulling a buggy for, I don't know, eighteen or so years and she's been trained to obey your commands; but just like a child, she needs to know you mean what you say and do."

Feeling thoroughly censured and absurd, Elizabeth took the reins back from Nick, yet this time she grasped them correctly on her own. She clicked her tongue, and resolutely called out, "Walk on."

Ginger performed precisely as Elizabeth had instructed; and before long, the horse and the buggy were moving at a sound pace. Elizabeth had succeeded in making Ginger turn to the left with a tug of a rein, and then to the right, and after that, properly come to halt on a command of 'whoa'; and within the span of thirty minutes Ginger and Elizabeth, with Nick defenselessly in tow, had finally made it out of the gates of the corral.

Elizabeth chose to head down the ranch road toward Campbelton. It was familiar, and Nick agreed; and in a short while Elizabeth was driving well enough for Nick to find some comfort. He sat back in the upholstered buggy seat, satisfied when he noticed Elizabeth was smiling at her accomplishment.

"Let out the reins and gently slap them on the horse's back. She'll quicken the pace to a trot."

"Why would I do that?" a twinge of Elizabeth's alarm was swiftly revisited.

"If we're going to get from the ranch to Stockton and back, all in one day," Nick humored her, "we'll have to go a little faster. The horse will go easy, Elizabeth." Nick was correct, and Ginger began a smooth jog; and Elizabeth was thrilled to have survived another new command.

When he was convinced Elizabeth was proficient enough at the trot, Nick instructed her to bring Ginger back to a walk. "Turn the buggy to the left. Just up there."

"We're not going to Campbelton?" Elizabeth questioned, unwilling to take her eyes from the road ahead.

"I think we should try going up a few small hills; maybe even down again."

"Hills?" she fussed.

"Hills; the land won't always be flat, and there may not always be a graded road to travel on. Take this left here," he reiterated and pointed, "just off the road."

"Up to Poppy Hill?"

Nick smiled without reservations; a sentimental twinkle in his eye. "Up to Poppy Hill."

Elizabeth made Ginger turn left and slowly climb the green, grassy slope; eventually coming to the plateau, the top dotted with a few oak trees. By the time they reached the destination it was nearly eleven o'clock and the air was still and warm. Nick supposed it time for Elizabeth to rest, and he knew he needed a well-deserved break, and something to eat and drink.

They parked the buggy near a lone oak for a place to tie the reins and a little shade for Ginger. Nick climbed out of the buggy, reached for Elizabeth and gently lifted her out, placing her feet back on the ground.

"As luck would have it, we made it here in one piece; a real triumph for near half a mile," he grinned, throwing the hat from his head onto the buggy seat. Elizabeth, feeling her body too tense to even walk, stretched her arms and legs, and moved her head from side to side, trying to alleviate the kink in her neck and ache in her shoulders before she dared to take a step.

She sighed as she stretched, "It feels good to be on firm land again; but we still have to make it all the way back before sundown." Elizabeth cheekily eyed her teacher, who obliged her with that soul-soothing laugh as he reached in the buggy for a blanket and the hamper.

Spring was budding swiftly into summer, and the weather atop the small hill could not have been finer had the young couple wished it so. Silas had packed ham sandwiches, some of Audra's pickles, cheese and crackers, last night's leftover berry pie and lemonade, all of which made them happy, albeit Nick could have been more gratified with a beer. Elizabeth was eager to unpack the lunch and serve it to Nick; he had deserved the good attention for having taken a day away from ranch business, and having been so longsuffering with all her fussing that morning.

Spending an otherwise tense morning, eating lunch, and the warmth of the afternoon air made Elizabeth drowsy and her eyelids heavy. Nick was comfortable, having laid back on the blanket, his legs crossed one over the other, and his arms folded back to cradle his head from the ground.

"You could read to me, Elizabeth, like you use to. Did you happen to bring a book?"

"I didn't," Elizabeth replied, pondering the predicament. "There is hardly room to fit even the smallest one in these breeches."

She chose another occupation, and reached over to pluck some blooming clover from a large patch beside the blanket. Elizabeth deftly braided the stems of blossoms together and within minutes held up a foot and a half long link of whitish-pink flowers. The length was enough to make a seamless circle.

"O, we crown thee with blossoms today, Queen of the Angels and Queen of the May," she whispered blithely, placing the crown atop her head; a tiny hint of a smile on her lips.

Nick quietly moaned in contentment; for with all that had ever come to pass between them, some things never changed. There was still a touch of the playful girl he had once known in the woman who sat beside him on the blanket. He was rapt by her aura; her skin, fair in contrast with the sheen of auburn hair; cheeks as naturally aglow as the blush of a sun-kissed peach. In three years he hadn't forgotten the delight of spending a day with Elizabeth; for although she was serene, within her eyes was a tempest of mischief to thrill his fancy. Nick had known women; yet he had never known the kind of pleasure as a man with any other woman as he always had when contentedly gazing on his bonny lass atop Poppy Hill.

* * *

><p>Nick reached over to touch his companion on the shoulder, "Elizabeth," he whispered, "we'd best get back on the road."<p>

Elizabeth sweetly moaned, but nothing more. She had laid her weary head down, May crown and all, on the blanket and fallen asleep. Nick left her at peace; getting up from the ground and pulling the length of the blanket over Elizabeth's body. His mind was too rife with thoughts for his own body to be allowed to rest; and in taking a look about the hilltop, decided to walk out and view the landscape.

In time, Elizabeth stirred, waking with a bit of a start; and she sat up, the May crown tumbling into her lap. There was no sign of Nick, yet Ginger and the buggy remained tied to the oak tree.

Elizabeth rubbed at her eyes, trying to shake the fog from her head. She had been dreaming; and what began as a pleasant recollection of being on her father's ranch with her beloved parents, turned into a restless vision.

She dreamed she had been driving the buggy with her father as teacher instead of Nick. The buggy overturned when her father had told her to bring Ginger to a trot. Although she could not remember the reason the buggy upended; she knew it to be true, and had felt as if she had been falling, eventually tumbling to the ground in a field of golden poppies.

She laughed when knowing she was safely engulfed in the poppies, and her father stood over her, looking down. "_You have to stay put, lass_," he said to her disapprovingly. "_How could he ken yer heart, if ye don't stay put?_"

Blood rushed to Elizabeth's cheeks at the memory and she scrambled to her feet, straining her eyes across the hilltop for a glimpse of Nick. Not able to leave the place she stood for fear of a beloved father's condemnation, she called out for Nick; the timbre of her voice heightening when he didn't answer.

In the distance, recognizable by his tall frame and long gait, ambled Nick. Elizabeth heaved a sigh; relieved to know she was no longer alone. She rushed to meet him near the center of the knoll; stopping to be sure it was indeed Nick before peculiarly hurling herself into his embrace.

"I thought you'd gone."

Nick held her tightly; curious at her palpable distress. "What's the matter?" he asked, not particularly fearful, then pulled away to take a better look. "Did you get stung by a bee in all that clover? It probably took you for a big flower."

"No," Elizabeth frowned, but then was able to laugh at herself a little. "I thought Ginger and I would have to go back to the ranch alone."

Nick took her by the hand, "Come and look," he said, leading her to where he had been observing his land. "How's that for a view?"

Elizabeth distress was eased by the prospect before her eyes. The verdant fields of sproutlings of wheat and barley that Nick had planted highlighted the countryside in patches, much like a chess board, alternating with the dark glossy leaves of groves of orange trees; the grayish water of the creek ebbing and flowing between the Barkley Ranch and the lands belonging to Campbelton.

"It only lacks for a little blue in color," Elizabeth declared, holding fast to Nick's arm. "Perhaps lavender."

"Maybe," Nick sighed in satisfaction. "It looks pretty good to me."

* * *

><p>"Where to?" Elizabeth asked; the pair back in the buggy.<p>

"You know," Nick mused, "I think I'd like to see that new baby of Jamie Drumm's."

"Should we go unannounced, Nick?"

"We won't stay long," he smiled. "Do you know the way?"

Elizabeth chortled. "It would probably be the same as if I was walking."

Once on the road Elizabeth began to feel her freedom; and the more Ginger responded to Elizabeth's commands, the bolder the young woman became in her ability to handle the buggy. Elizabeth examined the road and in seeing no visible obstacles, slapped the reins, letting Ginger settle into a quick trot.

"It's like we're flying on a carpet!" she shouted for the delight of the wind whistling past her ears, the scarf of the riding hat fluttering behind the buggy.

"Like we're what?" Nick grumbled the question; and quickly sat forward in the buggy seat, his nerves at the ready should he abruptly need to take the reins from Elizabeth to save both their skins.

Elizabeth repeated, laughingly; "A flying carpet, like in those books of the East, in Persia. You know; flying carpets, snake charmers, Sultans with harems of bejeweled women, all lying about on cushions eating mangoes and baba ganoush, while musicians play the setar."

In a flood of adrenaline, Nick grabbed the reins from Elizabeth and slowed Ginger to a walk. "Harems and baba…" addled, he attempted to echo, "just what have you been reading, Miss MacCanish?"

A blush spread across Elizabeth's cheeks; "Exotic stories of Arabia; they are all the rage in the city."

"I bet they are," he speculated, his brow enquiringly arched.

"There is nothing untoward about such stories, Nick Barkley. They are simply flights of fancy to brighten a girl's otherwise dull existence."

"Flights of fancy," he harrumphed; "_I_ wouldn't know a hoot of harems or snake charming, and I've seen more of this world than you."

While Nick pondered such perplexing things, Elizabeth took back the reins; yet before she coaxed Ginger once again to a trot she looked to Nick with a superior smirk to assert, "I'd be willing to loan you the book."

* * *

><p>Jamie Drumm was quite happy to see visitors. He had been working in the barnyard, mending a plough when the buggy pulled through the gates.<p>

"Well now," he said, grinning, "Nick Barkley, ye certainly got the proper notion fer a chauffeur." He tipped his hat, greeting, "Miss Elizabeth."

Nick chortled, climbing out of the buggy, "I think I'll hire her on."

"What brings ye both by?"

"We were out on the road so Elizabeth could practice driving this here buggy, and thought we would see how you're getting on now that the baby's arrived. Anything you been needing around here, Jamie?"

"We're gettin' by just fine, but I thank ye fer askin'."

Nick took off his hat, smacking it on his knee to dust it off. "I'm curious to take a peek at the new baby."

Jamie smiled proudly, "Ye'd be most welcome."

"How are you finding fatherhood?"

"It's grand, Nick, just grand. O' course she keeps us up most o' the night, bit she's a darlin' wee thing. Family is most important tae us Scots," he nodded to Elizabeth.

"It is to us all, Jamie," Nick was genuine in affirming the sentiment. "It's the reason for all the time and effort we spend working our farms and ranches. It's only natural we'd want a good life, and we'd want to pass it on."

Jaime had to agree, and asked Nick and Elizabeth to come into the house. Elizabeth looked to Nick; seeing that he certainly had changed, much as Jarrod had said. He had earned his place in life, whether or not he was aware of it; and his outlook was grounded and his air, self-assured.

"Why don't you go on ahead, Lizzie," Nick told her, "and let Mrs. Drumm know I'll be along in a few minutes."

Elizabeth smiled at Jamie, and did precisely as Nick asked. Nick took his opportunity, and pulled a slip of paper from his vest pocket, handing it to his friend.

"Before we go in, Jamie, can you tell me what the phrase on that paper says?"

Jamie looked at the scrap of paper on which Nick had copied the words Elizabeth had written as a closing to each of her letters. "Well," he said, "ah kin surely read it, though its kind o' personal. Ye sure, Nick, ye want me tae read what it says?"

Nick nodded; "I expect it might be kind of personal; I need to know just how personal is…_personal_."

"It's a phrase written tae a loved one, a guidman; that's a husband or a lover. _Is mise le grá, mo laddie saighdiúir_; in English, Nick, '_yours in love, my fighter lad'; _a fighter or a soldier."

Nick raised a brow on hearing the translation. He was thunderstruck, then rather giddy on knowing the connotation of the phrase.

Jamie saw his friend's pleasure. "Was it written tae ye, Nick Barkley?" he ventured to ask.

Nick nodded in acknowledgement, smiling proudly at his recollections of receiving the letters; finding validation for his feelings in the knowledge he hadn't been the only one between himself and Elizabeth who felt attraction and love.

"It was a closing to letters I had gotten when I was away during the war," he explained, in a trance-like state.

"Were the letters from the bonnie lassie now in my house?"

Nick colored when he realized what he had said, and how he must have looked to Jamie, and wordlessly gave a nod of confirmation. Jamie slapped his friend on the back and the two men made for the house.

Inside, Elizabeth was cradling the newborn in an armchair, humming a pretty lullaby. The baby was awake, softly cooing and squeaking, fascinated by the doting young woman and her song as Elizabeth gazed at the bundle with the tenderness a woman has for a baby.

"Isn't she just beautiful, Nick?" Elizabeth asked as he stood over her shoulder and surveyed the infant.

"She certainly is," Nick spoke with a warmth to his voice he didn't often use, "and so are you."

Before Elizabeth drove the buggy back to the ranch she insisted on stopping by the barley field for an inspection. Nick and the field crew had taken out more plants than she had thought, but they had done a tidy job, and luckily the blight looked to have been controlled for the time being. Nick was pleased; for nothing upset him more than hard work gone to waste. That was a rancher's lot in life; the hours spent toiling, plowing, planting, mending fences, herding cattle, breaking horses, worrying; always worrying about disease, drought, floods, winds, all the things that Nick was unable to bend to his will. With people, his stubbornness often gave him the advantage; with the earth it was all about luck.

* * *

><p>At supper that evening Nick praised Elizabeth as a good student when it came to driving the buggy. Indeed she had done very well, but there was much more for her to learn. She had helped unharness Ginger, been shown how to stow the tack properly, and insisted on brushing down the gentle mare and feeding her before she and Nick returned to the house and washed and dressed for supper. Elizabeth gaily redressed in the rose-colored frock, a garment more suited to her taste, and thanked Victoria and Audra for the loan of the clothes.<p>

She thought that on the morrow she would go to the mercantile in Stockton and purchase breeches, boots, a blouse and an appropriate riding hat to have on hand for the next lesson. She expected that Nick would fix another day to continue the instruction, but instead he announced to the family that he was to take the train to Marysville first thing in the morning on business and from there go by stage Northwest to Santa Rosa, only to return late Friday evening.

Victoria hadn't heard of Nick's plans to leave, and knew nothing of the business of which he spoke. Instead of inquiring further, she kept quiet, as did Jarrod. Usually they would have pressed him for an explanation of such a trip, but Victoria thought perhaps she could guess what sort of business Nick would have in that part of Northern California. Elizabeth was disappointed on hearing Nick would be gone for three days, but it was not her place to ask of the nature of his business, or persuade him to stay.

"I'll be back in time for the dance on Saturday," he assured everyone. "Mother, would you ask Silas to see to my cutaway?"

"Of course, Nick," she replied. "Silas will have it pressed and ready for you, dear."

Elizabeth was far too tired to sing or play the piano after supper, even though Audra had wanted her to do so. She convinced Audra that an evening of reading a good book and a good cup of tea, occupying a place on the comfort of the sofa was what she needed; and Nick sat beside her, looking through a ranch ledger and correcting some of the figures while drinking a glass of scotch.

With Nick leaving early in the morning, and Elizabeth having been out all day, the family decided to give the pair their liberty, and they busied themselves at more quiet, solitary occupations than was usual for an evening at home. Nick took a glance at the book Elizabeth was reading. He was relieved that it was a novel by Jane Austen called _Persuasion_, and that it most likely had little to nothing to do with Sultans and their harems. As exhausting as the day had been, Elizabeth's head began to swoon while reading. Had they been alone, she would have been apt to lay her head against Nick's shoulder and close her eyes.

A messenger came to the house, usually bearing a missive for Jarrod at such a late hour, but instead Silas brought the note to Elizabeth, telling her that the currier was awaiting a reply. Her tired eyes focused on the outside of the paper for a moment, which simply had her name neatly scripted across the front; and Nick stopped scratching at the ledger figures to study Elizabeth.

Once she read the note, Elizabeth frowned; and her unease at having received such a message made her look hastily at Nick. "You all right?" he asked in a hushed, protective tone of voice.

"Yes," she whispered back, albeit slightly unconvincingly, "just fine."

"Lizzie?" Jarrod questioned. "What is it, honey?"

"It's a note from the elder Mr. Haight asking me to luncheon tomorrow at the Cattleman's Hotel."

Nick turned away from Elizabeth to hide a scowl of displeasure.

"What could he possibly want with me?" she mused aloud.

"Well," Jarrod reasoned, "you'll have to accept the invitation to find out. Maybe he'd like to know you better before they return home."

"There _are_ a few things I could do in Stockton tomorrow."

"I'm afraid that once I take Nick to the depot early in the morning, I'll have to be at the office for the rest of the day."

"Heath," Nick tersely interrupted, "You can take Elizabeth to town tomorrow."

"With you being gone, Nick, I've got a lot to do here," Heath countered.

"Not enough that you can't spare a couple of hours in town," Nick was insistent enough for Heath to drop any argument.

"Very well," Elizabeth replied, and she hastily penned a favorable reply to Mr. Henry Haight's invitation.

Elizabeth and Audra went to bed for the night, although they probably would spend an hour in Elizabeth's room, chattering and laughing before retiring. The Barkley men and Victoria remained for a time in the living room, and Nick put the ledger aside.

"Heath," he spoke in a low voice, "Jarrod and I would prefer you be with Elizabeth tomorrow. It's important someone look out for her around those men."

"They seem to be gentlemen, Nick."

"I'm sure they are," Nick replied, "but they have a purpose for wanting to see Elizabeth."

Jarrod stepped into the conversation. "They are interested in Elizabeth's ranch and land, Heath."

"Among other things," Nick sneered.

"What other things?" Eugene found the conversation not to his liking.

"Young Mr. Haight has designs on Elizabeth," Jarrod finished when Nick could not find the words.

"Oh," Heath grimaced at the revelation, "and we don't think he'd be acceptable?"

Nick rolled his eyes, and said abruptly, "No _we_ don't."

"Now Nick," Victoria sought to calm her son, "Elizabeth is a prudent young woman, and not easily influenced."

"I know," Nick yielded to common sense, "I know. I'd just feel better having Heath there."

"I'm going along too," Gene was emboldened, "just to make sure."

Nick nodded his approval making Gene believe himself a capable man by the endorsement of an elder brother who usually took care of such things himself.

"You boys mind your manners, and your tempers," Victoria cautioned her two younger sons, though she looked directly at Nick. "Elizabeth is family, but she is a grown woman who knows her own mind, and makes her own decisions."

The last person for bed that evening was Nick; not unusual as he lingered to lock the doors and extinguish the lights. He stood at a window in the living room, anxiously pushing the lace curtains to one side to peer out at a barely moonlit sky.

"You had better get some sleep."

"Mother," Nick obliged a smile, though it appeared less than honest.

"Now, how can it be that you have the need to worry, Nicholas? You usually leave all contemplative vexation up to Jarrod."

Nick had to agree; chuckling, "I worry plenty; it's just that I'm able to hide it better than Jarrod."

"Uh, huh," Victoria doubted, and moved beside her son at the window. She reached out a devoted hand to clutch his arm which held the curtain. "I know your father would have been better able to help you sort out the path of your life, but I am here for you," she said.

Nick let go of the curtain and sighed, knowing Victoria sought an explanation. "Mother, I _have_ to go."

"Go where, Nick?" she was caring, yet stern. "Not to Santa Rosa. I hope not to San Francisco."

"Healdsburg."

"Healdsburg," Victoria repeated, "to see the MacCanish Family, I can guess."

A smile ranged across Nick's handsome face, although his burden was still unmistakable. "Not much gets by you, does it?"

"Not much," Victoria said, her voice filled with a mother's love for her child.

"What would you say if I proposed to Elizabeth?"

"It's not for me to say, my darling," she smiled for loving him, "but if you must know I would say it would be the most sensible thing you have done in some time."

Nick hadn't been prepared for such an answer; he reached out, his hands on his mother's shoulders, and he looked as if he could bawl.

"You don't think she'd rather be with a city man, do you? A man more like Jarrod, or even that fellow from San Francisco?"

Victoria was patient, reassuring him, "Often, those opposite in character make the best of matches. Nicholas, why all this doubt in yourself? I presume you hadn't been apprehensive when you proposed marriage to Hester."

"I wasn't afraid of Hester's answer," he confessed.

"You and Elizabeth have known each other a very long time. Has there never been an understanding between you?"

Nick shook his head. "I love her," he said, "and not like other women; not just a fascination."

"That's been no secret to us, Nick."

"I guess not," he shrugged, "_Her_ feelings were a secret. I could never really tell how she felt about me, until today."

"What happened today?" Victoria's curiosity got the better of her.

Nick ran his fingers through his hair; the giddy smile of earlier in the day reappearing, "Jamie Drumm read me a letter."

Audra had left Elizabeth's room for her own and Elizabeth dressed in a nightgown and velveteen robe, and let down her hair for bed. She hadn't eaten much at supper, and the growling in her stomach reminded her of the fact; and so she slipped out of her room and down the stairs, intending to go unnoticed into the kitchen. She was unaware of Victoria and Nick in the living room, until having had a glass of milk in the kitchen and making her way back to her room.

"I was stupid to let her go to San Francisco, Mother," Nick said indisputably. "What was wrong with me?"

"There was nothing you could have done differently then."

"I can now," he affirmed.

"What if she doesn't want to give up her life in the city, Nick? What's to be done then?"

"Then I'll live in the city," he said with certainty.

"You've chosen a life here, Nicholas. You can't mean that you'll leave the ranch."

"I do, Mother. If she wants me, and she wants to be in the city; that's where I'll go."

Victoria was stunned into silence. She looked up at Nick expecting him to admit to some sort of mistake in judgment now that he had a chance to think about what he had said in haste. He didn't budge a muscle, didn't look away or make a motion to apologize. Nick was dead serious.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion," Elizabeth interrupted; mortified for having overheard their conversation; knowing she would never make it back up the stairs unnoticed. "I was a hungry so I came downstairs for a glass of milk."

Nick was surprised at seeing her, and Victoria looked ghostly-white; but Elizabeth appeared heaven-sent; her curls fallen loosely about her shoulders, the soft velveteen robe covering her feet; and Nick couldn't look away.

"I wish you a safe and prosperous journey tomorrow, Nick."

"Elizabeth," he took in a breath while speaking her name, then succeeded in saying, "Thanks."

"Good night, Victoria," Elizabeth struggled to smile for wanting to weep.

She turned on a heel to head back up the staircase; having no choice than to accept the fact that Nick was still forlornly in love with Hester Convers. There were times when Elizabeth regretted her stubborn Scottish heritage and pride; for unlike the intrepid Miss Convers, Elizabeth had never been able to tell a man of her wishes and desires, at least not in person.

"Elizabeth," Nick called out to her and she stopped, though she dared not turn to face him, "You'll stay put while I'm gone, won't you?"

She willed herself the resolve to speak in a clear voice, and audibly confessed before running upstairs, "I'll be right here."

Victoria went to the safe behind the desk to fetch a small box, handing it to her son; "This is the emerald your father gave to me before you were born. It belonged to his mother; a cherished possession she had brought with her from Portsmouth when she came to Boston to marry your grandfather. I'd always meant to have it set in a pendant, but I couldn't decide on the right setting. It will make a fine engagement ring. I know my good friend Warren Cheney the jeweler is in his shop early. Perhaps he'll open for you before you have to be at the station, and can recommend the right setting, and work on it while you're away."

Nick fretted. "I can't take this."

"You can, and you will," Victoria was insistent, her hands compelling his fingers snugly around the box. Her feelings at the moment ran high; joyful to be giving her blessing to a son in marriage to the ideal woman, yet miserable at the possibility of his leaving his home for good. "Your father would be pleased knowing you had it; and I will be happy knowing you will give it to Elizabeth."

* * *

><p>Nick woke Jarrod earlier in the morning than had been decided the night before; and Jarrod answered his bedroom door in a disheveled state of body and mind. "What the devil, Nick; what time is it?"<p>

"Five o'clock, Jarrod; come on, I need to get to Stockton. If you hurry I'll buy breakfast."

Nick drove the buggy to town while Jarrod tried to clear the cobwebs from his head. "I don't see why we need to go to town this early," he yawned.

"I have an errand to do before I leave on the train," Nick grinned, bright-eyed and eager, unlike his brother. "You go on to the café, have some coffee and try to wake up and I'll be along shortly. Nick pulled the buggy into the livery stable and flipped Jake Parsons the livery boy a handsome tip, then bolted down Main Street on foot.

"Who lit a fire under him?" Jake scratched his head and looked to Jarrod; who was only capable of exhaling a groan.

Nick rapped on the storefront of the jeweler several times. "Nicholas Barkley," the elderly man, Warren Chaney, was surprised to see his friend Victoria's son, and so early in the morning.

Nick fumbled in his vest pocket for the box, while greeting the man. "I'm sorry to be calling so early," he said, "but I'm leaving town on the eight-fifteen. I'd like to know if you will take on a commission; something you could have waiting for me on Friday afternoon, when I come back through town."

The elder man put on his thick spectacles and took the box from Nick's outstretched hand. "This is a stunning gem," he admired the emerald, "what sort of commission did you have in mind, son?"

"I'd like to have it put in an engagement set, something not gaudy, but delicate, elegant."

Mr. Cheney peered up at the young man; his wire-rimmed glasses perched uselessly on the tip of his nose. "You want an engagement set, Nicholas? I don't wish to pry, son, but I thought you had recently ended an engagement?"

"Yes, well," Nick chortled uneasily, "that was over before it even began."

The elder man grinned; "I saw Connell MacCanish's daughter in town the other day. She certainly is a fetching young woman; the two of you were always very close."

"I'd like to think we are still."

"Will you be proposing marriage to that young lady, perhaps on Saturday night?"

Nick smiled artfully; "Now I'd hate to have it known all over town, before the lady even knows."

"You can be assured of my silence, Nicholas. One can always trust their jeweler along with their doctor and their lawyer to keep a confidence. Let me show you some settings, perhaps something in filigree, and a diamond or two on each side of the emerald. Do you wish it to be sterling or gold?"

"Gold," Nick answered assuredly.

"What size is her ring finger?"

"I haven't a guess," the younger man rattled.

"Not to worry," Mr. Chaney breathed calmly, all the while leafing through countless sketches and drawings of likely settings, "Leave that to me. How about something such as this?"

"No, that's not quite it."

"Too garish?"

Nick nodded in the affirmative.

"This one. Now this setting would be lovely, I believe. It resembles the spirit of the young lady."

Nick took the sketch from the old man's hand and eyed the drawing. Mr. Cheney held the emerald near the sketch for effect.

"Can you see it?"

"That's perfect; absolutely."

"Very good, my boy," old Chaney was satisfied.

Nick marveled at the elderly gentleman; while writing out a bank draft for payment. Warren Chaney took off his glasses and beamed an optimistic smile; extending a hand to Nick.

"Congratulations, son," he nodded, "and well done on your choice."

"On my choice of the lady, or of the ring?"

"Of both."

Uneasiness struck Nick for the first time that day; "Thank you," he succeeded in smiling through the anxiety, "but she hasn't said she'll marry me, yet."

"My boy," the old man sighed, "the lady would be foolish not to marry a good man like you. Particularly if he was to give her an engagement ring such as this."

Nick found Jarrod nursing a hot cup of coffee at a table at the cafe. It smelled good; and after a harried morning occupied in an activity completely out of his element, Nick needed something to sooth his nerves. He had his fill of coffee and managed to eat a full breakfast before it was time to make his way to the depot.

"Was Chaney able to help you out, Nick?" Jarrod asked, quite out of the blue.

Nick's brows furrowed as he pondered just who in Stockton didn't know what he was about as of late. "He was," Nick guardedly came clean. "How the devil do you always know what I'm doing?"

"Well now, let's see," Jarrod found his good humor now that he had eaten, "You've arranged a spur-of-the-moment trip to a part of California where we know very few people and have no contacts except for perhaps Lizzie's family, and you wake me up at the crack of dawn to pay a call on the town jeweler; it's not hard to formulate a likely hypothesis, Nick."

"I thought lawyers were supposed to be objective."

"I'm making an exception; and let me say it's about time brother, that you get on with it," Jarrod whispered on account of any eavesdroppers in the room, "If you'd taken any longer _I_ would have asked her myself, but I'm not the one who got all those love letters."

Nick was incredulous, but whispered in kind, "How do you know about the letters?"

Jarrod rolled his eyes, then checked his pocket watch for the time, "I know plenty."

"Then what the devil are mangoes and baba ganoush?"

"What?"

"You don't know as much as you think you do, Pappy."

Jarrod was annoyed, enough to grouse, "Don't you have a train to catch?"

Nick scrambled to his feet; laying down the money for breakfast as he had promised. "Take care of things at the ranch for me, Jarrod," he called out; but before he was gone he added, "Don't let anyone get hitched until I get back."

* * *

><p>"Elizabeth," Victoria tapped on the door to the guest chamber. "Heath and Gene are ready to take you to town."<p>

Elizabeth opened the door, smiling, although Victoria thought the young woman's countenance to be less than enthusiastic. Elizabeth was dressed for the engagement, yet she did not seem eager.

"Oh, my dear girl," Victoria sighed. "I know when something is more of a chore than a delight; if going to luncheon with these gentlemen makes you unhappy, I can be very effective at contriving an excuse for you to cancel."

Elizabeth laughed. "You are very good to me, Victoria," she said, "but I keep telling myself that it is _only_ lunch."

"You aren't afraid of those men, are you?"

"Not at all," Elizabeth was quick to discount Victoria's presumption. "Young Mr. Haight has never been anything but a gentleman; it's just that he is quite forward. To own the truth, I get the impression that he wants more from me than just a casual acquaintance."

Victoria almost wished she hadn't been privy to Nick's intentions toward Elizabeth. She could find no words of comfort for the young woman, and no assurances for herself that Elizabeth would accept an offer of marriage from Nick. All she could do was reach out and pull Elizabeth into an embrace; a hug Victoria felt she needed more than did the girl. Elizabeth treasured the warm feelings Victoria had always shown her, particularly since Rose's passing. Victoria was honest and open with her children, and when Elizabeth had needed advice, the good mother had always been willing to tell it straight.

When Elizabeth's parents had died, she had followed the course she had thought she wanted; yet as each day passed it became plain to Elizabeth that her desire for independence was waning. What she wanted in her life now had changed immeasurably.

At twenty-one she had desired to satisfy her own choices; now at nearly five and twenty she longed for the strings that came with a binding attachment. She ached for the companionship of a good husband, desiring to love him and keep his house tidy, and she yearned for the selfless joys of nurturing a child; but most of all, she wanted the man of her desire, and in that, a passionate union.

Elizabeth and Victoria went downstairs together; Heath was waiting to drive the surrey, and Eugene met Elizabeth in the foyer. He took her by the hand and helped her into the carriage, to sit beside Heath. Victoria wished her well; and as they drove on, Elizabeth turned to Heath and with a sly grin asked him if he would prefer to have her drive the surrey. He laughed along with her, and said, "Soon, real soon."

Stockton was bustling that morning, although it was a lively town on most days, save perhaps Sundays. Heath pulled the surrey in front of Bandy's mercantile, and he and Eugene followed Elizabeth to the door of the shop. Heath paused a moment to glance down the boardwalk at two pretty girls, a Miss Lucy Collier, and her younger sister, Mary.

"Do you know them?" Elizabeth asked.

"No," Heath replied in a voice that was preoccupied by what he saw, not by what he said, "but I'd like to know the elder girl. I've seen her around town since her family moved to Stockton, but I've never had the chance for an introduction."

"Her sister is very pretty, too," Eugene reflected, with a similar sort of fixation to Heath's.

Elizabeth delighted at the fascination of her two escorts toward the newcomers, and she agreed, "They are both lovely."

Howard Bandy was happy to have customers, and although there were a few folks browsing in the shop, he hurried over to Elizabeth and the Barkley boys; the family being long-standing and good paying customers.

"How can I help you, Heath?" Bandy asked.

"Miss MacCanish has a list of items she needs, and I'm looking for a new vest."

Bandy happily greeted Elizabeth once again, although he had seen her two days prior; and he took her list of items, which included the riding breeches, blouse, boots, and some leather gloves. He stopped to ask Heath, "Leather or cloth?"

Heath preferred the leather, and tried on several vests, all while Elizabeth was busy trying on her own accoutrements. Gene occupied himself by looking at pocket watches in a glass case, hoping that his mother or Jarrod would buy him one for his upcoming twenty-first birthday.

Heath couldn't decide on a new vest, and he touched Elizabeth on the sleeve to get her attention. "Gene and I need to run over to the saddle shop for a minute or two. We'll be back to take you to your appointment."

Heath was a dear young man, easy-going, with a desire to please. His disposition seemed to fit well into the Barkley family, and he was definitely a complement to Nick's character, the two of them equally as hard-working, tough, and resilient, yet just different enough in temperament as employers of a large ranch to handle all sorts of laboring men.

Howard Bandy was wrapping Elizabeth's purchases when the Collier sisters happened into the shop. Bandy greeted them by name, and Elizabeth saw a timely opportunity. She whispered to the shopkeeper, "Might I beg an introduction, Mr. Bandy?"

"Of course," he smiled and walked from behind the counter to stand between the sisters. "Miss Lucy Collier, Miss Mary Collier, I'd like to present Miss Elizabeth MacCanish. Miss MacCanish is visiting Stockton from San Francisco."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Elizabeth smiled in her warm and convivial manner.

The two girls were young, perhaps twenty-one and nineteen, pretty and mannerly. Each was blessed with long, golden-brown hair, milky white complexions, and large, expressive brown eyes. They each curtsied to Elizabeth and both sweetly blushed.

"We're very happy to know you, Miss MacCanish. We've heard much of you, and of how you had lived in the valley with your parents, and moved to the city," Lucy spoke.

"I'd be very pleased if you would both call me Elizabeth."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Mary giggled for the honor of knowing a fashionable lady from San Francisco. The girls admired Elizabeth's clothing, and the manner in which she carried herself; and they marveled that such a beauty would wish to know them.

"Have you been in Stockton long?" Elizabeth inquired.

"Only a few months," said Lucy. "We came here with our parents from a town near St. Louis."

Elizabeth delighted, "And what do you think of the West, Miss Collier?"

"Lucy," she insisted at once, "and please call my sister Mary. We all like California very much, but we haven't met that many friends as yet. We had been in our old town for so long we knew practically every family."

"Well, we have met now; and have you met the Barkleys?" Elizabeth pried.

"No," Lucy spoke in haste, "I mean, Mrs. Barkley and her daughter Audra introduced themselves once at the bank, but we haven't met Mrs. Barkley's sons."

"Although we've often seen them in town," Miss Mary was eager to include.

"Then you must be introduced," Elizabeth arched a keen brow of resolve. "I am staying with the Barkley family while I'm in Stockton. We have been friends for more years than I can count, and I feel as if they are my own family. The youngest son, Eugene goes to university in Berkley, and often comes to the city to visit me; as does the eldest son Jarrod. He is an attorney here in Stockton and in San Francisco; and in the middle are Nick and Heath, they run the ranch."

"Who were the two brothers with you this morning?" Miss Mary, whose character seemed more forward than her sister, asked. "They are both quite handsome."

"Yes, they are. The fairer and elder is Heath, and the younger, darker-haired young man is Eugene," smiled Elizabeth, proudly. "Is your family to come to the Spring Cotillion this Saturday night?"

"I'm not sure," answered Lucy.

"But we truly want to," added Mary.

"And are you both allowed to attend a party or a dance with an escort?"

"Yes! Both of us!" Mary very nearly squealed.

Elizabeth could barely hide her amusement at the excitement of the young women; and at the good fortune in timing. "Well, Heath and Eugene will be back shortly. Would you like that introduction?"

"Oh yes," Lucy said, dotingly; and Mary, whose round brown eyes and long lashes resembled those of a plains doe, only mustered a sigh.

Elizabeth heard the bell on the storefront door jingle, and to her delight, Heath and Gene entered the shop.

"I'm glad you're here," she insinuated herself between the young men and women, taking Heath's elbow in the fingertips of her left hand, and Lucy's in her right. "Mr. Heath Barkley, may I present Miss Lucy Collier." When Elizabeth left the first couple to introduce the second, the second pair had already turned to face one another, their eyes affixed and their grins giddy. "Mr. Eugene Barkley, Miss Mary Collier."

Both couples fell easily into conversation, and Elizabeth thought she had overheard someone mention the cotillion. Heath's desire of meeting the pretty young women had all been easy enough to accomplish; nonetheless Elizabeth remembered her luncheon appointment.

"Do you have the time, Mr. Bandy?"

"Eleven thirty-five, Miss; and oh," he winked, "well done."

"Hardly, Mr. Bandy," Elizabeth countered. "It _is_ spring after all."

Elizabeth called to Heath, though he didn't respond until she moved past the girls and tugged on his sleeve. Heath paused from his discourse with Lucy and instantly remembered why he was in Stockton.

"Excuse me," he nodded to Miss Lucy, "I have to take Miss MacCanish to an appointment now."

"Don't be silly," Elizabeth grinned slyly, her eyes narrowed at her scheming. "It's only a block away," she tittered with a wink, "and I won't even have to cross the street. Where will I meet you afterward?"

"Will you ladies join Gene and me for a phosphate soda at Bergdorf's?" Heath invited the girls, and they readily accepted. "We can meet you at Bergdorf's after your luncheon, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth agreed; silently congratulating herself on a match or two well arranged, though having moments before made light of the accomplishment, and she bid them all goodbye.

"Oh," replied Heath after a moment's time, "Have a fine time, Lizzie."

Elizabeth had no sooner left Bandy's when she passed in front of the jeweler's on her way to the Stockton Club. Before she had gone too far, Warren Chaney hurried out the front door.

"Miss MacCanish," he greeted, his spectacles now perched on the top of his head. "It's very good to see you again!"

"And you, Mr. Cheney."

"Pardon the intrusion, but I have a great favor I would ask of you."

"I am on my way to a luncheon appointment, but I have a few minutes to spare," Elizabeth kindly offered.

"Let me see your hands, my dear," Mr. Chaney lowered his glasses to his nose, to where they might actually do some good. Elizabeth held up her bare hands, the back's facing the old gent. "Yes, yes indeed, your hand will do nicely."

"Nicely for what?" she was curious as to his meaning.

Mr. Chaney had been a jeweler for fifty years, and after all that time in such an occupation he had learned to be a sly old duck when it came to the business of marriage and engagements. "I am fashioning a ring for a young couple, but I neglected to take the lady's ring size. Your hand seems to be very nearly similar in size. Would you allow me take a measurement? It will only take a moment of your time."

"Of course I will," smiled Elizabeth in answer. "Are they to be engaged?" she asked as she followed Mr. Chaney into his small, cluttered shop. There were tools strewn about on his worktable and it was clear he was intently creating some exquisite piece for a lucky recipient.

He grasped the brass fitting rings, tried a few of the rings on Elizabeth's left ring finger and finally decided on the correct size. He looked at her, suddenly realizing she had asked him a question.

"Yes, I believe they are to be engaged, and soon."

"Do I know the happy pair?" she held her breath for a moment.

"I doubt that you have met them, my dear. They are new to town."

Elizabeth pondered, and exhaled; perhaps in disappointment, "There seems to be a surplus of newcomers to town these days."

"Indeed, the town's growing. There are quite a few new families in town, and soon-to-be families. I won't keep you my dear and thank you kindly for your assistance."

"I would very much like to see the ring."

"Oh my dear, I could not show it to you!" exclaimed Warren Chaney, and then in clarification said, "I mean, I have barely begun work on it. It is a modest stone solitaire on a plain band is all, but I'm certain the young lady will like it quite well."

"No doubt she will, and the tidings that come with the token; Good bye." Elizabeth waved to the elderly man as she was finally at liberty to continue on to the Stockton Club and meet with Harry Haight and his father for luncheon.

Young Harry was waiting on Elizabeth when she arrived. He had taken the liberty of ordering tea for his guest with some fruit and cheese. He rose from his chair to seat Elizabeth and a waiter came and poured the tea.

"Thank you for meeting me," he smiled, seemingly pleased, yet anxious in contrast to his usual unflappable, practically haughty demeanor. "My father is at the telegraph office sending a wire to my mother. He will join us soon."

"She must miss you both very much," Elizabeth smiled.

"Yes, though my mother is often alone. My father is usually away on business perhaps a fortnight out of every month."

"I suppose that is a woman's lot in life; to be home waiting for a man to return," Elizabeth spoke, happening to think of Nick. "Does your father have business in Stockton often?"

Harry chuckled, "I don't think so; no."

"What do you think of this town, Mr. Haight?"

"Now Elizabeth," he chastised, "I've made it clear you _must_ call me Harry."

Elizabeth laughed easily, "Yes, Harry."

Harry was somewhat eager to report, "It is a fine town. I believe I could even call it home."

Elizabeth was skeptical on hearing this, yet before she could express her doubts to the young man, Mr. Henry Haight joined the party. He warmly greeted Elizabeth in a manner which made her feel that she was a part of their family. A generous luncheon of beef, macaroni pie, and salad was served along with a bottle of sparkling wine.

The conversation was more agreeable than Elizabeth had anticipated, with Mr. Haight asking questions of Elizabeth as to her family and of her own interests, and in turn telling Elizabeth of his family; his wife and his children. Mr. Haight seemed like any other devoted husband and father, and at that moment very little like a powerful San Francisco banker.

"Harry tells me that you have considered selling your Stockton lands, Miss MacCanish," Mr. Haight was a little more business-like in tone. "Have you settled on a price, my dear?"

"I did mention to your son that I was thinking of selling. My considering it was one reason I decided to come back to Stockton, but to be honest sir, I have since changed my mind entirely."

"That is your prerogative, but have you changed your opinion on the urging of the Barkleys?" he asked, showing an inkling of aggravation for that family; for the Barkleys had become rivals of the Haights simply by their knowing Elizabeth.

"No," she replied with resolve, "The decision was entirely my own. I have not sought the council of my friends or family, but I now realize that this land meant very much to my father, and it still means the world to me. I appreciate your interest, Mr. Haight but I must tell you for certain that I will not sell."

Harry betrayed the feelings that until now he was reluctant to display. He was indeed an impatient young man, accustomed to having his own way, and in haste he demanded to know, "What will you do with it, I mean you couldn't possibly manage a ranch yourself?"

Elizabeth's pride overcame her good sense and she replied insistently, "I believe I could, with the proper help and guidance."

Harry's father appeared disappointed at the sudden lack of wile in his son and he rose from his seat and kissed Elizabeth's hand. "I respect your reasons to keep your property, Miss MacCanish. I leave you and Harry to continue your conversation. Thank you for the pleasure of your company at luncheon, and for your frankness."

"Thank you for the invitation," she spoke softly, "and for your understanding."

Harry watched his father leave, and when the elder man was out of sight, he grasped his glass of wine, finishing it off at once, asking in earnest, "Then you will not be returning to San Francisco?"

Elizabeth pondered the question, then declared, "I think not."

"You said the ranch was one of the reasons you came to Stockton. Just what are the other reasons you are here, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth chose not to answer; instead she began to thank Harry for the luncheon, but he reached out a hand and grasped her own to prevent her from leaving. A theory had occurred to Harry.

"You are engaged to one of the Barkley sons," he stated rather than asked, and Harry could see the notion flustered Elizabeth. "So that is the reason you came back to Stockton. You are promised to the lawyer."

"I am not engaged to Jarrod Barkley," Elizabeth insisted with an upturn of her chin.

"It couldn't be the ranch heir, the one my father met the other day in the lawyer's office?"

Elizabeth had not heard of Nick meeting Mr. Haight. On this score she was not pleased, for the less Harry and Nick knew of one another, the better.

"If I _were_ engaged, why should you presume it could not be Nick Barkley?" Elizabeth was truly affronted, "He is a fine match for any woman."

Harry was incredulous, and he replied with a callous sputter, "He is a rancher, a simple farmer. I'm sure he's had little education to speak of, and little instruction in propriety. I've heard tell he is hot tempered and a brawler; surely he is not your equal or worthy of your notice."

Elizabeth was mortified by the prejudice of Harry Haight, and of the San Francisco well-to-do. As a whole they had come by their power and wealth so rapidly, and in that short a time had forgotten their roots, humble as most had begun. The MacCanish family may have been immigrants, but their heritage along with their good manners had been left intact, whether they lived in their old country or their new; and the Barkley's themselves were not a family to have deserved the disrespect of the Nob Hill elite.

A turbulent storm was brewing in Elizabeth; a tempest in her eyes of green, and the manner in which her lips pursed in disgust. Harry had gone too far in his assumptions and had overstepped his position when it came to passing judgment on Elizabeth's friends.

"Who are you to declare who may be my equal, Harry Haight? There are some men not bothered by toil and sweat, some men defend their honor and country in ways you could never perceive; and their education does not come from a book or a French tutor. Nick Barkley has forgotten more about ranching than any other person would expect to learn in a lifetime."

Elizabeth stood up and swiped up her reticule from the table top. Harry hurried to his feet, seeing his good chances slip away.

He stuttered, "Elizabeth, my words were hasty; I'm envious, is all. It would set my feelings to right if you tell me you are not connected to Nick Barkley in such a way."

"What concern is that of yours?"

"I want you…" he stopped short.

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Oh, lord," was all she could say.

Harry continued; "I must have your promise that you will accompany me to the cotillion on Saturday night."

Elizabeth spoke plainly for Harry's dull understanding, "That is impossible. Nick Barkley is to be my escort."

Harry Haight was left standing in the center of the Stockton Club, devoid of any rational thought or feeling. He had not succeeded in any objective he had planned when it came to Elizabeth and himself; he was now shocked, and rejected, which always made the possibility for a perilous, angry young man.

Elizabeth escaped for Bergdorf's, her feet carrying her as fast as they could without running. She was upset beyond measure; her cheeks glowing scarlet red in color, and her eyes moistened from her anger. She wondered what a man would do when made so angry, and she was certain that if the man were Nick, he would opt to punch the perpetrator of such offenses smack in the nose, which didn't seem all that bad of a remedy to Elizabeth at the moment.

There was a merry party going on at the fountain counter at Bergdorf's, with Heath and Gene holding court for their new friends. Elizabeth stopped at the door; and the happiness on the faces of her friends and acquaintances served to quell her disgust at the arrogance of Harry Haight. She dried her eyes with a handkerchief and took in a deep, calming breath.

With all that had happened, she was truly glad to be in Stockton. The people of that town or any other small town for that matter had no need for airs and haughtiness. The purpose of their lives were simple in aim; to make a decent living for their families, and to take enjoyment in the company of their friends and neighbors.

Elizabeth waved to her friends, and although her cheeks still exhibited a glow, it could not be construed as having been the result of anger. "_Join us, Elizabeth_!" was the cry at the counter, and she was very happy to do so; and the cheerful spirits of well-intentioned young men delighting in the company of pretty young women served to placate Elizabeth's ill humor. With a sip of soda from an extra straw in Eugene's glass, Elizabeth soon found she had all but forgotten the tempestuous encounter with Harry Haight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The train depot in Stockton was teeming with travelers at seven-forty five in the morning. Nick Barkley was lucky to get a ticket, or so the station master told him, and he paid the fare of two dollars and forty-five cents for a coach seat for the entire trip from Stockton to Sacramento, and boarded the eight-fifteen. It wasn't easy to find a seat, though Nick finally located a vacant spot in the back of car number three.

He threw his carpet bag in the compartment above his head, settled into a seat with a stretch of his long legs, and unfolded a newspaper. The trip was to be four hours on the train, and then a bumpy five-hour journey of hilly, dusty, dirty roads and tiny stage stops along the Butterfield Overland line to Healdsburg. Nick could no longer count how many miles he had logged through California, either for pleasure or for business, though the purpose of this trip was unlike any he had taken before.

In the seat ahead of Nick was a young mother and her small son. Although Nick would like to have read the morning edition of the Stockton Eagle, not five minutes passed when the small boy punched the back of Nick's newspaper with his tiny knuckles and giggled uncontrollably as Nick lowered the paper to catch the rascal at his deed. Nick was amused; and he chuckled for the memory of having been just such an impish youngster, often to the utter vexation of his parents.

Throughout Nick's boyhood much of the State of California had been sparsely settled and untamed. The Spanish had established themselves in both the south and the north territory very early on, and had built their missions in intervals along what had once been called the El Camino Real stretching from Mission San Diego de Alcalá in San Diego in the south to Mission San Francisco Solano in Sonoma in the north.

Few American pioneers had dared to make the six month journey West before 1849, though among these early settlers was a young Thomas Barkley and his new wife, who had left the Ohio Valley by wagon train along the Fremont trail in the year 1841. Among these early homesteaders lived the indigenous peoples of California, Modocs, Yokuts, Miwoks and the like in the central valleys, many of who had died off of European diseases, of which they had no immunity.

During the gold rush, and after the War Between the States, more and more Americans moved westward to find their fortunes and rebuild their lives. The South was in disarray and under slow reconstruction, and carpetbaggers and emancipated slaves came to find refuge. The North became a place for industry, politics, and the establishment, and newcomers were not warmly welcomed.

With these emigrants came an influx of foreign expatriates as well; people who had caught wind of a golden land, and the promise of a better life than in the crowded countries from which they came. People from the Orient and Europeans of all countries settled along river ways and dotted the Pacific coastline, finding employment in trade.

It was rare to find grown generations who had the distinction of being born to California; an advantage which Tom and Victoria Barkley's children enjoyed and took to heart when it came to the prosperity and politics of the State and of the West. As mature men, their California heritage gave the Barkley sons a prodigious sense of pride and a great deal of influence among the population. This legacy was a distinction which Tom had anticipated, and had insisted his sons uphold in the best possible light; and though it was often difficult for young men not to make mistakes and sow their reputed oats, by and large the Barkley boys had conducted themselves with honor.

Nick was the tender age of four when Sacramento had become the Capital and it was now the central hub for all train travel in California. It was not long ago that he and Jarrod had gone to the grand new Capital building modeled after Washington's Capital, to witness the ceremony of its dedication.

When he arrived in the small town of Healdsburg late in the day, Nick found a room in a small hotel which had limited services, run by Russian immigrants. He strode down to a public bathhouse to wash off the trail dust as soon as he was settled, and paid an able valet to brush his hat and coat, and black his good leather boots. It was dark by the time he was clean and presentable, so Nick remained in town for the night, ate supper in the hotel, and had a drink in the saloon below his room before turning in for bed.

Nick had asked the bartender at the saloon, an old man by the name of Pavel, for directions to the MacCanish ranches. Eldest brother Muirfinn's ranch was the nearest to Healdsburg, located between Eastside and Westside roads, along the Russian River, about a half hour ride by horseback.

"You had best be wary, Mister Barkley," Pavel advised, pouring the young man a shot of bathtub vodka and setting it down on the bar. "Those Scots are friendly enough, but they do not take to strangers trespassing on their land."

Nick eyed the clear liquid in the glass before he gave it a wary taste. It had somewhat of a kick, but was too dry to be useful in washing away the dust stuck in Nick's throat. By its flavor alone, he pondered whether the stuff was indeed poisonous; and so he civilly declined by pushing the glass back toward the bartender, and asking for a bottle of rye whiskey instead; dropping two bits on the bar.

A touch of fog hung in the air in the morning when Nick let a horse from the livery stable and headed south down Westside road. He didn't mind the ride, though it would have been far more enjoyable had he not had such a formidable purpose when reaching his destination. The fog kept him a tad on edge, for Nick always stowed his rifle in a sheath while on horseback as well as wearing his gun belt, but he'd left the rifle back at the ranch, making him feel lacking in hardware in an unfamiliar neighborhood.

Inasmuch as Nick had been closely acquainted with Elizabeth's parents, he had met Connell's brothers and their families on only two occasions that he could remember. They had been large congregations at Campbelton; clan gatherings that were more like festivals; each culminating in a night-long revelry which lingered far beyond the time when the women and children had gone to bed leaving the men to their drink and their tales of war, the hunt, and heroism from times long past.

Nick had been of age for one such event held after the war to have been asked to remain with the men for the duration of the night. He recalled the kinship of the Scottish menfolk, thinking it similar to times he had spent as a soldier mustered in a northern encampment awaiting orders, but with far smoother whiskey. The Scots feasted on food the names of which Nick could barely pronounce, some of which he was reluctant to sample when he had been told of the fixings, though he supposed nothing could ever compare to the desperation of eating bark and moss when his regiment had been pinned down in a swamp by rebels in the South.

The Scots themselves had suffered from such deprivations of war. Many of the MacCanish clan had known kin who served the British crown as Highland dragoons; cavalry men and infantry, the toughest lot in the British Corps. They had been scouts and reconnaissance men, some of them officers leading troops to inevitable slaughter through a hail of bullets to an eventual hand to hand combat of sword and bayonet. They were men who bore the visible scars of battle, and who had considered it an honor and duty to be on the front lines in the Crimea fighting the French.

Although Jarrod had been invited to the gathering as well, he had only lasted until three o'clock in the morning before passing out in a loft in the upper corner of Connell's barn. He awoke the following mid-day to find his clothes and hair covered in hay and reeking of spirits, at a loss to explain the lass whose name he could not recall, asleep beside him; and he stumbled home on foot, only to collect a harsh look of disapprobation from his mother as he came through the back porch door. It had been Nick and Tom who had survived the entirety of the night, though Nick gulped for the bitter memory of tumbling into his bed at dawn, only to wake up that evening with the meanest hangover he had ever suffered, the duration of which lasted two excruciating days.

It was near midmorning when Nick found his way down the road leading to Muirfinn's house; an imposing, fortress-like structure fashioned from hewn quarry stone the color of beach sand. Muirfinn's wife and a daughter had been tending their ample kitchen garden and had seen the horse and rider approach. Isobel MacCanish stared blankly at Nick before being tempted to call out to her menfolk; yet after a moment her expression revealed vague recognition, until it occurred to her from where she had seen the young traveler.

"Nicholas Barkley!" she cried out, her arms wide in welcome. "Eh'd ne'er thought tae see ye here, laddie; ye ur a sight tae behold!"

Nick flashed a broad, toothy smile and dismounted to greet the woman, adding, "I'd like to have a word with Mr. MacCanish, if I..."

Before Nick could finish his sentence Muirfinn MacCanish hurried through the front door, greeting Nick with the same open arms as his wife had done; walloping him on the back with a jovial command of a brawny arm that nearly knocked Nick from his feet.

"It is guid tae see ye, laddie, but whit ur ye daein' here?" he asked, and then blanched at a hasty notion, "There's naethin' wrang wi' oor Lizzie, is thaur?"

The family had received a letter from Elizabeth a week earlier, telling them that she was to visit the Barkleys in Stockton for a time. Nick quickly assured Elizabeth's uncle, "She's just fine. Though she _is_ the reason I'm here." He swallowed, finding his nerve; "I'd like a word with you and your brother about Elizabeth, and myself."

A guttural and indecipherable mumble of revelation escaped Muirfinn's lips when he grasped the purpose of such a visit, and within moments Muirfinn's sons and daughters had all gathered round their patriarch until there was a small throng. Muirfinn pulled aside a boy who looked to be about fourteen years of age and gave him instruction.

"Brion," he said, "Gang an' fetch yer uncle Gillis. Teel heem it is important." Muirfinn stopped to take a look at Nick before grinning through his greying beard and adding, "Teel heem tae come noo."

Nick was invited into the house; the slate flooring of the cavernous living area lent an echo to the numerous voices and footsteps, a boisterous reverberation which bounced off the bare stone walls. There was a roaring wood fire lit in an immense stone hearth to chase away the chill from the fog, and trophies of the hunt and clan relics hung on the walls, the furnishings somewhat primitive yet serviceable. The house had the aroma of roasting meat; leaving no doubt a large meal was being prepared even though company had been unexpected.

"Come an' hae yerself a drink," Muirfinn ushered Nick into a room resembling a library, away from the prying eyes of the crowd.

A stout tumbler of scotch, quite possibly three jiggers full, was poured and handed to Nick, and although it was somewhat early in the day, he felt it an obligation to drink the offering. Muirfinn raised his cup in an unspoken salute, and the two men drank in silence, both impatiently awaiting the arrival of Gillis.

Gillis MacCanish came to his brother's house directly; warmly greeting Nick in much the same manner as Muirfinn had done on first seeing the caller in the courtyard. Gillis had been tending to his almond orchard, and was dressed in a work kilt and homespun broadcloth shirt, wearing boots laced from bottom to top fashioned of leather and skins, and caked with fresh, reddish mud. He asked after Nick's family, and was pleased to know that they were all well. Then, the gist of Nick's purpose was relayed to Gillis by Muirfinn in their native Gaelic, and while Gillis austerely eyed Nick, Muirfinn poured his brother a scotch and generously topped off Nick's glass.

In the presence of such menacing kinsmen, welcoming or not, it took Nick time to muster his usual verve; yet he thought it best to plainly speak the words that he had been rehearsing in his head the entire trip from Stockton to Healdsburg. "I mean to make your niece an offer of marriage, and I'm here to seek the blessing of her family," he stated clearly, if not peculiarly ceremonial for Nick's character. "That would be how it's done, _wouldn't it_?"

Muirfinn and Gillis did well not to respond too hastily; opting to provide the younger man a moment or two of discomfort. Nick hoped this to be an accepted practice on such an occasion, no doubt to poke a bit of good-natured sport at the poor outsider. Short of an intention of doing so, Nick seemed to hold his breath, until Gillis laid a burly hand on Nick's shoulder and gave him a jostle.

"Hae ye bin coortin' 'er laddie?" He probed with a squeeze of his formidable palm on Nick's left clavicle, enough to produce a slight wince.

Nick exhaled, having to admit what was defensibly true, "For what seems to be years now."

At once Muirfinn countered, "Dae ye loove 'er?"

"I do," Nick replied with a besotted grin. The brother's had to take young Barkley at his word, as such a man would have no reason to lie or have a need to marry for a purpose other than love or for wanting.

"An' diz she loove ye?" Gillis eyed him again upon putting the question forward.

Muirfinn believed he knew the answer to the question; for he had seen for himself over the years that his niece was deeply fond of the lad. She had talked of him often, though her uncle knew she hadn't seen the young man in quite some time. Personally and by reputation Muirfinn MacCanish knew the Barkley's to be good people, neighborly and industrious folk, whose sons were destined for a fine future in this land. Should Elizabeth marry into that family her future wellbeing and prosperity would not be in question, though her uncle was mindful of her true happiness and desires.

"Mah ain marriage was by arrangement," he expounded aloud after finishing his scotch. "But that's nae th' way yoong fowk dae it these days."

"_Thankfully,_" Nick thought to himself; then taking a spell to answer to the best of his knowledge. "Your niece and I have always been friends," he said in truth. "I admit to feeling more than friendship for her, and I'd like to believe she feels more than that for me; but I wish I could say for certain. I don't see she'd ever come right out and tell me of her feelings, unless I ask; so I think it's high time I ask."

Muirfinn chortled at the young man's reasoning. "Mah guidwife cam tae loove me; an' Ah 'er," he said. "But wa come tae us noo, laddie?"

Nick frowned at his own shortcomings. "Three years ago she left for San Francisco, and I let her go. I didn't tell her of my feelings, and I didn't try to stop her from going, although I should have," he admitted. "I'm not making that mistake again. This time Elizabeth's not leaving the valley for good, unless I first say my peace."

Gillis folded his arms across his chest and chuckled at Nick's grit. "Yoo're a guid man fur comin' aw thes way tae ask 'er fowk."

"Tis a pity ye were not born a Scot," Muirfinn added, "but oor brother Connell consider'd ye a broth of a laddie an' ah believe Lizzie is fur ye. She's a plucky lassie, she is; an' if ye can manage 'er, she'll make ye a braw guidwife."

"But dornt be sendin' 'er back if ye cannae," Gillis winked; "Ye hae uir blessin', an' aw th' guid fortune 'at comes wi' it, Nicholas Barkley."

Nick took a fat swig of his drink and allowed himself to grin; for if he was to guess correctly, based on what he had been able to glean from the brogue of the brothers MacCanish, it seemed as if he had just received the family's permission to propose to Elizabeth.

Brion rode a stout pony to Healdsburg to fetch Nick's belongings from the hotel. Muirfinn and his wife insisted that Nick remain the night in their house and dine with the entire family. Nick was proudly shown the grounds, fields, vineyards and orchards, and the MacCanish brothers were particularly interested in Nick's opinion of the livestock, being a cattleman.

Nick had never seen Angus cattle; their hides as black as night and their stocky bodies even more stout and low to the ground than the Hereford cattle he had recently added to the Barkley herds. He thought the Angus perhaps unsuitable for surviving a long, difficult drive, but after having eaten the fine, lean meat at supper that night, he was persuaded to try raising a small herd specifically for the household.

Before supper the elder sons of both Gillis and Muirfinn sportingly taught Nick to swing a two-handed Claymore, a long, Highland broadsword that was more of a relic of show nowadays and in the new country, than a weapon of utility. Although Muirfinn and Gillis had doubted the young, lanky man's ability to wield such a weighty instrument, they were impressed that Nick was game to try, and held his own quite well though he was by no means a natural.

Nick had hoped the MacCanish brothers would keep the purpose of his visit quiet; that was until he in fact proposed to Elizabeth, and pending her answer, of course. Yet it seemed that a family as large and as close knit as the MacCanish clan had few secrets between them; and over a long supper, extensive counsel from the brother's wives as to the merits of a good husband, and bawdy teasing from their men-folk on keeping a wife happy, they all made merry that night and wished Tom and Victoria Barkley's son success.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth said little to anyone concerning her luncheon with Harry Haight and his father. As luck would have it, the distraction created by Heath and Gene in telling the family of time spent with the Collier sisters was a welcome relief to Elizabeth. The boys amused Victoria considerably, for although she was accustomed to Audra excitedly telling her of whichever boy she had just met, Victoria's sons were less apt to disclose many details concerning their affairs with the opposite sex.<p>

Gene was a mannerly, naive young man and had little understanding of women. He was a bright student with a promising future, who generally kept to his studies, and seemed to be secure in the part of a slightly awkward younger brother to three brothers older and far wiser. He was never sure who to ask when he had questions about mingling and courting a woman, for on that score, by his age and by his demeanor, Jarrod seemed wholly unapproachable.

Although Nick was eight years older than Gene, his vibrant character made him easier to talk to about such things. Nick had never been really sure as to how much he should disclose in reply to Gene's questions, and he usually stuck to answering a specific query, choosing to omit any superfluous details that he had learned on his own anyway. What Gene needed was someone he trusted, yet someone sensible to show him how to behave with a woman, and he found it in an unlikely person.

Elizabeth had gone to the kitchen, and she stood at the counter in front of a floured wooden board preparing bread for the evening meal. She found the occupation a useful therapy while reflecting on the day's events. She couldn't seem to shake her bewilderment at being the object of Harry Haight's hapless fixation, and so once she had mixed flour, water, yeast and a pinch of sugar and salt, she began to knead it into a dough, and after a few minutes the kneading grew more into a pounding.

Gene had been sent to look for Elizabeth; and he stood in the doorway of the kitchen seeing her sock at the dough. "Lizzie," he made certain to keep his distance, "are you busy?"

"Yes," she answered him curtly; a little winded and still absorbed in the chore, "You can see I'm kneading this dough for tonight's supper."

"More like you're punching it, I'd have to say."

"Kneading is the key," Elizabeth stated through gritted teeth. "If that's true this may possibly be the best bread I have ever made."

Gene dared to move a little closer, pondering aloud, "Or it may end up as tough as a brick."

Elizabeth wheeled about at the irony; she looked harried, her face dusted here and there with white flour, and she groused, "Don't you have some sort of creature to view through one of those lenses you borrowed from school?"

Gene flinched, and nervously chuckled at Elizabeth's appearance and attitude. "I was wondering if, that is when you're done beating that dough, if you have time to help me practice for the cotillion. I pretty much have the waltz steps down, but if I don't get better at the other dances I'll have to sit them out and let Mary Collier dance with some other fellow."

On hearing this, Elizabeth smiled; she could never be angry with dear, sweet Eugene. She grabbed an ironstone bowl and gently placed the ball of dough within, covering it with a cotton towel and setting it in a warm corner of the kitchen to rise.

"You know," she sighed gently, "It so happens I have the time right now."

Gene grinned and handed Elizabeth a clean towel and pointed to her cheek and chin. She wiped the flour and perspiration from her face, washed her hands, removed her apron and smoothed out her hair and skirts before following Gene to the living room where the piano sat.

Victoria was waiting to play the piano so that Elizabeth would be free to assist Gene and Heath. Audra took every opportunity to practice her dancing, and she was particularly good at the waltz, and now with the furniture having been pushed back, they were even in number and ready to begin. One of the things Jarrod and Nick had learned as military officers was how to dance, and Nick had been a particularly good student. He and Elizabeth had tripped a light fantastic toe on numerous occasions after Nick's return home, for there had been many joyful parties and dances in honor of returning soldiers in which to do so.

A cotillion after the war was a far cry from any ball that Victoria had attended as a young, unmarried woman. The quadrille and formal line dances had all but disappeared making way for round dances such as the waltz and cultured folk dances with intricate hand holds, hopping and stamping, with such colorful names as the schottische, mazurka, laendler and polka. 'The German', as it was often called, had become more than simply a ball with a well-attended supper afterward. In finishing the evening, a set of dance games were played, and competitions were held in which the young folk seemed to derive great joy for the chance to be frivolous and hold a partner even closer than earlier propriety allowed.

The German had been known to make more than one mother and father cringe; but it was great sport to watch and participate, and often led to clandestine meetings of young lovers and the random marriage proposal later that night. Such events had taken America by storm, and were the fashion in New York, Washington, St. Louis and Chicago, and had found their way to San Francisco and the West.

Audra partnered with Heath and Elizabeth with Gene; and Elizabeth began her instruction as Victoria played a Strauss waltz introduction.

"Gene," Elizabeth told him assuredly, "Come closer and hold my waist with a tighter hand, not like a limp dust rag, and never pay more attention to your feet than to the pretty face of your partner."

"Huh?" Gene flustered.

"A woman likes a man to gaze confidently into her eyes, as if he means business; but not so much as to make her father show up on your doorstep the next morning with a shotgun."

Audra and Heath promptly laughed, Gene went pale, and Elizabeth colored. "No offense, Victoria," she apologized.

"None taken, dear," Victoria replied while continuing to play.

Gene grumbled, "I'll never be as good at this as Nick."

"It's those long legs he's got," Heath commented, tripping over his own feet. "Audra has them too. We just didn't come by that feature, Gene."

Victoria added, "That is your father's doing."

"Oh," sighed Elizabeth in lament of her own petite frame. "What I wouldn't give to have been blessed with long legs."

Gene groaned, "Well, long legs or not, I still wouldn't be as good as Nick."

Elizabeth stopped abruptly, her hands gripping Gene's shoulders, and she admitted to her reluctant partner; "Nick _is_ very good at this; as a dance partner he can make a woman sigh."

Elizabeth had said far more than she had wanted. When she realized the slip, she hastily encouraged Eugene to try again. It wasn't easy for Victoria to hide a smile at Elizabeth's acknowledgement of her regard for Nick, but Victoria managed to keep playing without skipping a measure. Heath was a fair dance student, Gene a little tougher but by the end of two hours they both managed to get the hang of each dance, and build enough confidence in themselves to no doubt carry it all off for the pleasure of the Collier girls.

Elizabeth and Victoria remained in the living room after the rest of the party disbanded. Elizabeth's mind and body was numb, and Victoria craved quiet to quell a bit of a headache brought on by all the commotion. Silas brought tea, and the two women sat across from one another, Victoria in her usual chair and Elizabeth on the divan.

"Have I told you how happy I am that you are here, Elizabeth?" Victoria serenely smiled.

Elizabeth smiled back in the same manner. "Not as happy as I am, I imagine, to be here."

"Are you, dear? I for one would be satisfied to have you here always, and I have to believe that the rest of this family would as well. When we are all together, Audra has the sister she always wanted, and the boys have the advice of a woman who isn't their mother or their little sister. Perhaps, though, you miss the solitude and quiet of being in your own house, but I truly hope that's not the case."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, thinking of the prospect of being always with the Barkley family. She exhaled a satisfied sigh, "I've had my fill of quiet and solitude. I could do with a little liveliness; probably for the rest of my days."

"There is enough liveliness here," Victoria laughed.

"Yes," Elizabeth chortled; and her delight was contagious, "but isn't it grand? I have to admit that seeing the Barkley boys and the Collier girls so besotted with one another today made my heart sing; all this hope and bother over a cotillion. The fancy of it all has swept me up as well."

"Well, it's not often we have this sort of event in Stockton; particularly one that requires such fine dress."

"Victoria, I think it a good idea to keep an attentive eye on Miss Mary Collier from St. Louis. She's something of a flirt, and although probably harmless, I hope she doesn't trifle with Gene too much. He may be out of his element with that one."

"You will be too busy at the dance with all your partners to mind her," Victoria winked, "so I will."

Silas had made a fine supper of fried chicken and slaw, and Elizabeth's bread, while edible and tasty, was indeed a bit chewy from all the pounding it had taken. With Nick gone, Audra in her room in front of the mirror trying to decide on a style for her hair to complement her gown for the cotillion, and Gene and Heath in the study practicing dance steps with their shadows, Jarrod enjoyed an evening alone with his mother and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth had offered up little information about Mr. Haight and his son, and Jarrod was curious enough to ask, "How did it go at luncheon, honey?"

"The food was just fine," she rolled her eyes slightly as to not be completely impolitic, "but the company was lacking."

"How so?" Jarrod rattled; protectiveness showing through.

Elizabeth did relay to Victoria and Jarrod all that they had been aware of concerning Mr. Haight's interest in purchasing the ranch. She deliberately left out any mention of Harry's behavior.

Jarrod questioned, "I take it you're not interested in selling?"

"I told them I'm not; I really couldn't sell the ranch; my feelings won't allow it."

"I'm relieved, Lizzie; and now those two will head back to San Francisco."

"They may not. Jarrod," Elizabeth felt it a duty to implore her friend; "please keep Nick away from those men."

Jarrod replied, unconvincingly, "I doubt they would happen to meet with Nick."

"Please. I would rather Nick and Harry Haight never met. I don't think they'd get on at all."

"Jarrod," Victoria spoke her son's name; and with one purposeful look persuaded Jarrod to heed Elizabeth's advice, and to ask no further questions.

"If that's what you want, Lizzie, I'll do my best. Well lovely ladies," he grudgingly let the conversation rest, "I am for bed."

Victoria gave Jarrod a kiss. "Silas can get the lights."

"Good," he replied as he bent to kiss Elizabeth's cheek.

Gene came out of the study limping, and rubbing his palms over his face. "My feet hurt and my head is spinning," he whined. "I need to sleep. Good night Mother, Elizabeth."

Heath followed, yawning. "I'm going to bed, too. I tell you, being in the saddle all day is easier on a man's constitution than learning to dance. Good night; and Lizzie, thanks again for the introduction to Miss Collier."

Elizabeth made herself comfortable by kicking off her evening slippers and curling her legs up on the divan, her feet tucked beneath her skirts. She felt wholly at ease, completely at home. Victoria happily let her be; and she picked up her embroidery to work silently.

Elizabeth yawned, and asked, "Were you happy as a wife, Victoria?"

Victoria took the time to think before speaking; as it wasn't the sort of question that a woman could answer easily. "I was," she admitted. "Marriage to Tom was an adventure; the best adventure of my life."

"An adventure sounds perfect. I could do with an actual adventure instead of just reading about them in novels."

"Oh my dear, don't mistake me; I can't say that I was happy at every single moment of marriage. As you must know, bliss is a difficult feeling to preserve, and life isn't as charmed as it is in books."

Elizabeth grinned. "That is what my mother always said."

"Then she must have known what I know," Victoria pointed out to Elizabeth.

"Did you have many suitors before you met Tom?"

Victoria laid down her stitching. "I had my share, and I was thankful for their attentions, though I was still very naïve of the world when I met Tom; and idealistic when it came to really knowing a man. Tom wasn't all that much more knowledgeable of the opposite sex than I, but he was patient and gentle, and as understanding as a new husband could be, alone in a wilderness valley with an impressionable young wife."

"Somehow, I can't picture you as impressionable," Elizabeth doubted.

"Oh, I was! Tom suffered with a smile through my early attempts at cooking, an occasional tantrum when things didn't go my way, and even a little bit of a jealous streak at times. My husband had an easy way with people, and I had to learn that it was not a crime to share his attentions with others. In turn, I endured his bad temper when a business deal fell through, and his despair when drought or flood ruined the work of an entire season. There were a few times, early on, when Tom was quite stern and unforgiving of something I did or said, mostly as an attempt to keep me from harm. My wounded feelings tempted me to run back to my family and friends; but I never did.

As parents Tom and I didn't always agree on how to raise our children, but he was here for me each time I was with child and after each delivery, and I tried to soothe his troubled heart on the few occasions our children disappointed him and he had to impose his rule. Together we suffered the news of the loss of our own parents, some dear friends, and sadly, a baby in between Nick and Eugene.

There were a quarter as many people in Stockton as there are now, and I spent many a lonely night sleeping on that very divan, waiting for Tom to return home from a business trip, a meeting in town, or from out on the range. Every wife waits in the hope that when her man comes home he will take her in his arms and tell her how much she was missed."

"Victoria," Elizabeth saddened, believing she saw grief on her friend's face the longer she spoke of her late husband. "I hope my question didn't make you melancholy?"

"I could never be sad at the memories," Victoria smiled lovingly, a mother's smile at Elizabeth. "I loved my husband and through it all I'm convinced he loved me in the same way; and my life now would never have been whole without the wonderful children he gave me. I'm sure that when you marry, Elizabeth, you will be a happy wife. The trick is to choose your man well, darling."

"Isn't the trick to keep the man happy?" Elizabeth giggled at the adage.

Victoria beamed; a sassy glance toward the younger woman. "That's no trick," she confirmed. "That is a necessity."

Elizabeth had listened closely to all Victoria had to say; and was satisfied by the answer to her question. Like Victoria, Elizabeth had seen her share of prospective suitors in San Francisco society, though she had never seriously entertained the thought of marriage to a single one of those men. Their reasons for marriage had been borne of practicality, their offers of love all too cold and tidy. In all honesty, Elizabeth was a born romantic and had always been in love with one particular man; although the fact that he had never asked for her hand in marriage was indeed proof that real life wasn't nearly as charmed as it was portrayed in a romance novel.

"If only the right man would want to marry me," Elizabeth fancied aloud. "If only it didn't seem like an eternity to wait."

"The _right_ man is worth the wait." Victoria took up her stitching once again; hoping for her son's sake and her own, that her remark was timely.

Elizabeth tried to smile, yet with the uncertainty she felt, it was a challenge. She slipped on her shoes and stood up; stepping over to where Victoria sat to kiss her friend appreciatively on the cheek.

"Thank you for not painting a portrait of perfection," Elizabeth confessed. "My father always claimed I was just a little too fanciful for my own good. I find, more and more, just how sensible he really was about life. Good night, Victoria."

* * *

><p>"We'll be hearin' frae ye, one way ur anither," Muirfinn MacCanish asked of Nick early in the morning before bidding his farewell.<p>

Nick nodded, imagining the prospect as a member of such a family. He had found the clan MacCanish generous to their friends and deeply loving of their relations. They were hardworking and determined to succeed, protecting all they had for the purpose of a better future; yet treasuring the customs of which they had been born, insuring that their offspring would hold with tradition. They were rough and tumble men of the earth who never balked at a good fight for reasons that were just, nor did they shy away from a gentle moment with their women, or the occasion to be a good father to their many children; and it could be said that Nick Barkley was a man cut from a similar tartan.

Nick took the patriarch by the hand, shaking it warmly in gratitude. "Elizabeth is the letter writer," he smiled. "Not much else I can do but place my faith in your niece, and pray she'll be sending you happy news."

* * *

><p>It rained the entire day; not the sudden and violent thunderstorms of earlier in the week, but steady showers and low clouds blanketing much of California, a welcome occasion for newly planted fields, yet the rain was enough to keep the ladies inside the house. The weather annoyed Audra, and she fretted most of the afternoon.<p>

"This had better stop by tomorrow," she groused, looking out the window at puddles and mud. "It will simply ruin the cotillion."

"You will make it to the cotillion, whatever the weather, Audra," her mother sighed.

"Yes, but I want my new gown to be clean when I get there!"

Elizabeth listened quietly to the conversation, smiling on occasion at Audra's histrionics. Elizabeth had managed to find a task to occupy her morning. She had asked Silas for the mending, and she quietly sat in the corner of the great living room near a window where the light was best. Most of the mending consisted of work shirts belonging to Nick and Heath torn by barbed wire, Nick being harder on clothing than anyone else in the family. He worked hard and played hard; evident by the wear and tear on most of his shirts and occasionally the side seams and pockets of his trousers.

Silas had happily given up the chore, not that he didn't like his work, but he could see the pleasure such a task brought to the sweet young woman trying to find her place in the Barkley household. Silas knew better than anyone what tending to the family meant; and the Barkley's were indeed his family. For over twenty years he had cared for them, nurtured them, and in his way, loved them; and in kind he was thought of as kin.

He knew what each person in the house was about; where they were going each day, where they'd been, whether they felt well or poorly, sad or happy, hungry or thirsty. As he tended to their needs, his cheerful presence was a comfort, and at times and in his unassuming fashion, Silas influenced the lives of the family in no insignificant way; even imparting a necessary lesson or two when obliged.

With the mending done, Elizabeth ate a small lunch and rested in the study with a copy of the latest edition of Godey's Ladies Book. She hadn't slept well the night before, and by the afternoon she felt as if she must lay her head down or swoon. Victoria often rested in her bedchamber in the afternoons, and so when Victoria made her excuses, Elizabeth did as well. It was a comfort to lay her head upon a soft pillow and cover her body with a warm blanket. She supposed the dreariness of the rain was dampening her spirits, but then she thought of Nick and the elusive purpose of his trip; and she knew what she felt was melancholy.

The Travis family had come for an early evening meal, for they hadn't yet seen Elizabeth. Elizabeth and their daughter Meg were friends, although Meg was two years older than Elizabeth and as yet unmarried. Meg was a tall, fair woman, pretty and feminine in her own way by her graceful manners, and she had always been keen on Jarrod. Although it was clear he liked her very much and often squired her to a dance or a party, Jarrod had not been tempted to consider Meg more than a friend; a situation in which Elizabeth felt she could well empathize.

The Travis' didn't stay long after supper, as Mrs. Travis always seemed to be in a hurry to be home before nightfall. By half past six Jarrod was ready to fetch Nick, and instead of taking a buggy as Elizabeth would have thought, he set out on his horse with Coco in tow. At a quarter to eight he returned without Nick and without the horse.

"What's happened, Jarrod?" Victoria worried.

"The stationmaster told me the train from Sacramento is delayed because of flooding along the tracks, and probably won't be in Stockton until eleven, or closer to midnight. Nick sent a wire from Sacramento saying to leave his horse at the livery and to go on home."

Elizabeth was now privy to what Victoria had told her of waiting impatiently on a man. To pass the time, and in truth, to sulk, she slipped away to her bedchamber. The ball gown she intended to wear to the cotillion was pressed and hanging on a form in the corner of the room. She hadn't been sure why she had brought it to Stockton with her; perhaps she had yearned to dance once again with Nick.

The gown was like none other to be seen in Stockton for it was elegantly simple and modern, from Paris, very beau monde; unlike the popular English gowns of endless frills, ribbons and trappings. The garment was fashioned of aerophane as no one wanted a weighty gown when dancing. If the color could be described it would be called burnt copper with hints of gold thread, a color to compliment the natural splendor of Elizabeth's own hair.

The gown had a low neckline and a formfitting bodice adorned with a similarly colored spotted lace overlay of a wistful design to draw further attention to Elizabeth's splendid figure and pale skin; and the top was finished with short, plain, tight-fitting sleeves.

The skirt had no train or bustle, and no adornment, and was of a length to barely reveal the toes of Elizabeth's dance slippers in the front, yet slightly longer in the back. The skirt was intended to make the wearer look as if she was gliding across the floor even more than simply by her skills as a dancer; and to keep the form of the skirt intact there was a lighter colored silk petticoat beneath. The garment was intended to make a statement of femininity on the dance floor, but above all its simple aim was to turn a man's head and keep his attention throughout the night on his own partner. Without argument, when it came to ladies fashion the French knew exactly what they were doing.

Elizabeth would wear her wavy auburn hair loosely braided and pinned up, with wisps of curls in front, framing her face; and instead of fresh flowers in her hair as most unmarried young women preferred, Elizabeth had a low fitting comb of tooled mother of pearl, that when affixed atop her head in front of the braiding would resemble a simple row of stars. Other than the one accoutrement, a pair of elbow length white gloves made the ensemble complete. Jewelry was to be sparingly displayed as it was considered out of place, and whatever was so, was in bad taste. A young woman was to wear the jewelry gifted to her only by her fiancé or her husband, and as yet, Elizabeth had neither.

By eleven o'clock that night everyone had gone to bed except for Elizabeth and Jarrod. They sat in the great living room talking and laughing of their memories of childhood, and of their friends and acquaintances in San Francisco, although Hester Convers was never mentioned.

Nick was glad to see them both when he finally wandered through the front door at nearly midnight. He looked worn-out, but he smiled and found his normal pulse renewed when he saw Elizabeth come toward him in greeting.

"Welcome home," she smiled dotingly; so very relieved by his return.

Nick tossed his hat on the table, his carpetbag on the floor, and peeled off his gloves. "Lizzie," he sighed in a similar manner to hers, his eyes taking in her convivial beauty and he asked, "What are you still doing up at this hour?"

"Waiting on you," she explained. "Was it a difficult trip?"

Nick gently laughed; "A little more than normal, but it brought me good luck, so I'd best not complain."

"I like a man who can't complain," Elizabeth cooed. "Hungry?"

"Starving. Any supper left?"

"Frankly no; Silas made Chicken Creole but when the Travis's were through with it there was barely a scoop left. I can easily make you Pain Perdu."

Curiosity made him ask, "And that would be?"

"An elegant name for bread fried with egg, and jam; and I may be able to scare up a slice of baked ham."

"Fine," Nick delighted.

"Jarrod, may I make you some as well?"

"No thank you, Lizzie; I'm for bed after I have a word with Nick."

Elizabeth turned to leave, but within a few steps she stopped and glanced back at the Barkley brothers. She loved them both dearly, for they had been her earliest and most trusted friends.

She could not remember a time when the Barkley brothers had not been her protectors, had not offered her their strength amid the most troubling times of her life. In Elizabeth's memory, the two had been kind, good natured and wildly fun as boys. Now as men, their confidence and good humor, their loyalty, and their pride in family and achievement added to their attraction.

"So, Nick," Jarrod impatiently inquired when Elizabeth had finally gone into the kitchen, "how was the trip, really?"

"Long, wet, and muddy."

"I meant, how did it go with the MacCanish brothers?"

Nick was tickled by his brother's prying; "By the time I woke up this morning, choked down some sort of bitter tea and nursed a slight hangover, I vaguely recalled passing muster with the MacCanish brothers." He paused a moment and then quite ably though respectfully mimicked, "E'en if ah wasnae born a scot."

The brothers shared a good laugh, as they often did between them; that was until Nick recalled Elizabeth had met with Harry Haight. "What did Lizzie say about that city boy, Jarrod?"

"Not a word," Jarrod sighed, heeding Elizabeth's warning to keep Nick and Harry at a distance. "By the way, what will you be doing tomorrow?"

"I don't crave getting up at dawn," Nick winked, "but after I talk with Mac about a few things, I'm going to town to fetch that item from Cheney and stop at the Alhambra Club to make arrangements for supper; and I might even have time for a beer."

"I best go with you, Nick," Jarrod vowed. "I'd like to see this certain item to satisfy myself that you got it right."

"I got it right," Nick beamed in pride, "But, if you really want to come along…"

"I insist. Besides, I might just make supper arrangements of my own. I'm taking Meg Travis to the cotillion."

"Whatever arrangements you make, Jarrod," Nick circumspectly grinned, "best be sure that they are at the opposite end of the room from mine. I don't cotton to you and yours eyeing me and mine all night."

"I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, Nicholas," Jarrod smirked, though there was a bit of the devil behind the gesture.

"Not much, you wouldn't," Nick doubted.

Nick and Jarrod parted at the staircase and Nick trailed the aroma of good cooking coming from the kitchen. Elizabeth had fixed the fried, battered bread on a plate, topped it with peach preserves and a dusting of finishing sugar, and knowing Nick's appetite, she added two slices of warmed ham on the side.

Nick washed his hands under the wet sink pump, and sat down to his meal at the table; Elizabeth beside him. She had a fork in her hand and when Nick cut a few pieces she reached over to stab a morsel of the toast from his plate.

"Hey now," Nick chuckled, taking a bite as well, "You've had supper."

"You will hardly waste away to nothing if I take one small bite," Elizabeth teased, "but now that I know it tastes well enough, the rest is for you."

"Since this is the best food I've had in days," he claimed before swallowing, "You can't blame me for feeling territorial."

Nick ate half the meal before he began to feel the life in him return to normal. He had been hungrier than he realized, and after eating he was apt to converse with a clearer head and a better humor. Elizabeth had brewed some coffee, and she poured Nick a cup, and handed him the sugar bowl.

Nick was curious about a good many things, and as he stirred the sugar in his coffee, he willingly pried, "How did you get on, Miss MacCanish, while I was away?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid," Elizabeth sighed, and pouted for effect.

"No?"

"No," she confirmed.

"Why?" Nick asked warily, the playfulness he had just expressed now supplanted by suspicion; and he chewed and swallowed another bite of his food, his wits poised to hear some sort of bad news.

"I missed having to drive you around in the buggy."

Signs of relief gradually returned to Nick's handsome face, before he chortled, "I'll bet."

"Truly, I did," Elizabeth lowered her eyes; an errant curl of hair falling down her forehead to obscure her face, and she confessed, "I very much missed _you_."

Nick watched her determinedly; wishing a glimpse of Elizabeth's expression, though he couldn't see her clearly. "Lizzie," he whispered, and softly tugged the unruly lock of hair with his fingers. "Tell me. What really happened while I was gone?"

Elizabeth pondered, shrouded by the curl, and then impishly smiled, "Quite a bit, actually. I've added riding breeches to my closet, so you may rest easy on that score; and I made the acquaintance of new friends. Do you know the Collier sisters?"

"I've heard of them; the new family in town."

"Quite so. I met them yesterday at Bandy's and I was able to introduce them to Heath and Gene."

"That a fact?" Nick chuckled, caught up in Elizabeth's gossip.

"They had a fine time together at the soda fountain while I had luncheon, and the boys will be squiring the girls to the dance tomorrow, Heath with Miss Lucy and Gene with Miss Mary; Jarrod is to take Meg Travis, and Audra refuses to limit her time to any one beau at all. I gave assistance to Mr. Cheney; and when we came home, Audra, your mother, and I helped the boys practice their dancing, and…"

Nick's brows knitted together, and he interrupted her to ask, "What sort of help did you give old Cheney?"

"He stopped me on the boardwalk in front of his shop. It seems he's been commissioned to make an engagement ring for a young couple in town and forgot to take the lady's ring size, so he took mine." She stopped, widened her eyes, and held up her hands before her as she had done for Mr. Chaney. "Apparently the lucky lady and I are quite similar. I asked to see the ring, but he's very stubborn and wouldn't show it to me."

Nick fidgeted, and changed the subject. "What about luncheon?"

Elizabeth's good humor vanished. "Mr. Haight is interested in my father's ranch, Nick. He made an offer to buy the place."

Nick took the last bite of his food, swiped at his mouth with a napkin and sat back in the chair, frowning, "And you said?"

"I said no," Elizabeth responded as a matter of fact; she stood up and reached for Nick's empty plate and silverware, taking the items to the sink.

It was a moment or two before Nick grasped the effect of her news; news that Elizabeth was unwilling to give up her father's ranch and her ties to the valley. The understanding made him run a palm over his weary face to quell the rush of involuntary adrenaline coursing through his body; he stood up and joined Elizabeth at the sink, laid his hands on her shoulders and easily turned her around so that he could look at her face, this time, unhindered.

A man needed little coaxing with such a beautiful young woman before him; Nick kissed Elizabeth so intently that the sudden gesture made them each a tad unsteady, and Elizabeth gasped. He drew away at her utterance; yet Elizabeth showed no sign of censure or dislike; simply a healthy glow of her cheeks and nose, a vibrant blush giving any man hope.

"That was hardly a kiss between friends," Elizabeth stammered, expressing the irony in life; her hands holding the sides of Nick's face as they lingered nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

"_Friends_ be hanged," Nick uttered unabashed. He kissed her again; an adoring kiss of some length, a kiss shameless in the absence of modesty, until he sighed and grinned, "That is how much I missed _you_."

"Apparently," Elizabeth declared blissfully, "it was quite a lot."

"Is that you, Mr. Nick?"

The pair startled; though Nick still held fast to Elizabeth. "Silas," he choked out the good man's name before grudgingly letting go of Elizabeth.

"Are you in here cooking?"

Elizabeth's hand covered her mouth and she stifled a laugh; and though the absurdity of being caught in such a compromising manner was hardly lost on Nick, he replied with irrefutable sarcasm, "We _were_."

Silas, dressed in a nightshirt and robe, a chamberstick in his hand, smiled at the couple. "You go on up to bed now," he insisted, "I'll clean up this kitchen."

Elizabeth led the way out of the kitchen, through the hall; waiting patiently as Nick extinguished the lamps along the way. The two walked along slowly, their smiles teasing one another as Nick's fingers brushed against Elizabeth's soft satin skirts. All too soon they came to the door of Elizabeth's room; stopping to look adoringly at one another.

Nick sighed, moving closer to Elizabeth to whisper, "Elizabeth, _my love_. There is something I have to tell you. I didn't go to Santa Rosa."

"You _confuse_ me," she hastily looked away; wounded by his admission.

Nick grasped her hand, entreating; "For once, let me say what I _need_ to…"

Audra opened her bedroom door on hearing voices in the hall. "Nick!" she called out to her brother while bounding from her room. "Tell me the rain has stopped."

"The rain has stopped," he absently reported; his complete attention engaged elsewhere.

Elizabeth pulled her hand from Nick's and hurried into her room, leaving her muddled lover alone with Audra; and a moment later Nick turned and made for his own room, leaving Audra to shrug off the cold exit of two people she adored.

Elizabeth had neglected to close the door to her room, and so Audra went in, asking, "What's wrong, Lizzie?"

Standing near the vanity, Elizabeth picked up the pair of white gloves she intended to wear with her ball gown. "Never wait on a man," she whispered beneath her breath and sniffled while stroking the soft fabric of the gloves with her fingers; but then she smiled at Audra. "Would you like me to help you with your hair tomorrow?"

"Mother is having Celie Holloway come to the house to help us both. I saw her in town yesterday, and she's very excited to be asked. Lizzie," Audra paused, "you seem so unhappy. Is it trouble with young Mr. Haight?"

"No, Audra," Elizabeth stopped her friend's speculation, and rushed to throw her arms around the girl in a reassuring hug. "It has absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Harry Haight."

* * *

><p>Nick pulled off his bulky leather belt and threw it down crossly on the ticking of his bed. He contemplated how a relationship with a woman-with this one, petite, modest young woman, could be so trying. He splashed his reddened face with cold water that he poured in the washbasin and sat on the bed, a towel still in his grip; and he irritably pried off his boots and kicked them a few feet away.<p>

He could barely understand Elizabeth when they were together; her demeanor so often tender and caring, and at times confident and exciting, but then as if some sort of valve had been released, she was seemingly frustrated and unhappy, leaving Nick to wonder if he should bear the guilt. After the events of that night, his head spun in bewilderment, for it seemed that by Elizabeth's welcome reception of his affections, they truly would become lovers.

Besides his troubles with Elizabeth, there were times Nick bemoaned living in the big ranch house; though luckily he was a social man for he had always been surrounded by his parents, an older, accomplished brother, two younger, and now three, needier siblings, as well as ranch hands and drovers, and for almost four years, a constant contingent of soldiers. It wasn't difficult for him to see the advantage Elizabeth had living alone in San Francisco.

There were numerous dwellings on the ranch in which Nick could reside, several of them vacant, including the original ranch house that neighborly folk had helped his father build for a young family; yet by duty he remained in the big ranch house, believing it expected, even after he would take a wife.

Now and then Nick found time for solitude by fishing or hunting, camping for a few days at a time; always to return rested and in a better humor. He was often the first to go to the lodge in the Sierras, opting to open it up for the summertime a few weeks before the family arrived for a respite from the valley heat. He sweated and toiled making repairs to the property simply to have some peace; a little quiet to be able to think without the influence of Jarrod's cultivated ideas, the adolescent meddling of Eugene and Audra, or even on occasion, the tempestuous brooding of Heath.

The Barkley Ranch itself belonged to Nick in no insignificant way; proprietorship solely wasn't the issue, money wasn't a problem; being the master of his own life was the great struggle. He pondered what life would be like if he were a married man; what woman would put up with all the turmoil that came with being a member of the Barkley family. Clearly Hester Convers had rejected life with the Barkleys, though in hopes of renewing his love affair with Elizabeth, Nick was now thankful that the engagement with Hester had ended with little consequence.

_His love affair with Elizabeth_; he had given that a lot of thought, effort and preparation in the last few days. In Nick's estimation, a love affair of heart and soul was what it was, what it had always been, whether or not he had been wholly aware of its existence and mindful of Elizabeth's own feelings on the subject. Nick was agonizingly conscious of it now; and it was a mere half an hour earlier that evening when he had believed Elizabeth eager to take the affair beyond flirtation to an enduring union. Perhaps Elizabeth's uncles had been correct; maybe Nick had his hands full in loving such a spirited lass.

Exhausted and justly frustrated, Nick fell back on the mattress. He winced in discomfort when the formidable buckle of his belt jabbed at his spine, and he reached beneath him and yanked the belt free, hastily lobbing the thing at a chair. Nick sprawled on his bed for a moment before willing his body up to undress and turn out the lamp. Laying in the darkness he could appreciate the quiet of the night; oddly now that Nick was alone, every fiber of his being craved companionship, and the warmth of a loving woman by his side.


End file.
